CHILDREN'S  ART-SERIES. 
LL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


BY 


LIZZIE  W.  CHAMPNEY, 

AUTHOR  OF  "BOURBON  LILIES,"  u  IN  THE  SKY-GARDEN,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  J.  WELLS  CHAMPNEY 

("CHAMP"). 


BOSTON : 
LOCKWOOD,  BROOKS,  AND  COMPANY. 
1878. 


Copyright,  1877. 
By  LOCKWOOD,  BROOKS,  &  CO. 


University  Press  :  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co., 
Cambridge. 


TO   MY  FATHER. 


r 

» 


CONTENTS. 


Introduction. 

The  Palette  3 

Ultramarine. 

Over  the  Sea  23 

Terra  Verde. 

Christmas  Greens  41 

Rose  Madder. 

The  Magician  59 

Venetian  Red. 

Venice  Gardens  83 

Vermilion. 

War  Paint     .       .       .       ,  11 1 

Malachite  Green. 

The  Marvellous  Marbles  125 

Silver  White. 

The  Christ-Child  of  the  Louvre  151 

Naples  Yellow. 

Neapolitan  Oranges  .       .    •  165 

Yellow  Ochre. 

Gold  and  Glory  179 


X 


CONTENTS. 


Raw  Sienna. 

Fresco-Christians  and  Fresco-Bandits  201 

Burnt  Sienna. 

The  Story  of  a  Donkey       .       .       .       .       .       .       .  221 

Van-Dyck  Brown. 

Two  Dogs  of  Van  Dyck  243 

Bitumen. 

The  Papyrus  Roll  263 

Prussian  Blue. 

The  Clock  and  the  Fountain  287 

Ivory  Black. 

The  Last  of  the  Tales   3°7 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


INTRODUCTION. 

THE  PALETTE. 

TORIES  and  pictures,  it  was 
all  the  doing  of  the  two  Paint 
Bogies ;  sometimes  Carrie  told 
the  stories  and  Tint  made  the 
illustrations,  but  more  frequent- 
ly Tint  was  the  speaker,  while 
the  other  Paint  Bogy  drew  cari- 
catures and  made  fun  of  all 
that  Tint  said.  Not  a  very 
polite  way  of  conducting  her- 
self, but  the  Paint  Bogies  were 
both  merry  little  bodies,  and  never  got  provoked 
with  each  other. 

Now,  you  might  reason  all  day,  and  prove  never 
so  conclusively  that  there  are  no  such  things  as 
Bogies  in  general,  never  have  been,  never  will  be, 
never  ought  to  be,  and  never  can  be;  and  particu- 


4 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


larly  that  there  never  were,  are  not,  never  will,  ought 
to,  can,  might,  could,  would,  or  should  be  Paint 
Bogies  in  particular,  —  and  Flossy  and  Ruby  might 
not  contradict  you,  for  they  were  well-bred  children; 
but  at  the  end  of  your  demonstration  do  you  sup- 
pose they  would  have  been  convinced? 

Not  the  least  bit  in  the  world !  For  had  they  not 
both  seen  them?  It  could  not  have  been  a  dream, 
for  it  was  not  at  all  probable  that  they  should  have 
had  the  same  dream  at  the  same  time. 

Flossy  Tangleskein's  testimony  taken  alone  would 

not  have  been  the  most 
reliable  thing  in  the  world, 
for  the  Tangleskeins  were 
a  family  with  active  im- 
aginations, and  a  heredi- 
tary tendency  *  to  mix 
things  up.  There  was 
Grandma  Tangleskein, 
just  the  dearest  and  best 
old  lady  that  ever  lived. 
There  was  nothing  she  enjoyed  so  much  as  listening 
to  sermons  and  repeating  at  the  dinner-table  what  the 
minister  had  said ;  but  no  one  could  have  recognized 


THE  PALETTE. 


5 


Grandma  Tangleskein's  report.  If  the  minister  him- 
self had  heard  her  version  of  his  discourse,  he 
would  have  thought,  "  That  is  an  excellent  sermon ; 
I  wonder  who  preached  it."  The  truth  was  that 
Grandma  listened  attentively  to  the  text,  and  then 
her  thoughts  floated  serenely  away  into  a  reverie  of 
how  she  would  treat  it  if  she  were  the  minister. 
Everything  that  any  one  said  or  did  started  Grandma 
Tangleskein  off  in  the  same  way.  She  was  very 
original  without  being  in  the  least  bit  conscious  of 
it.  She  always  gave  some  one  else  the  credit  for 
each  of  her  own  bright  ideas,  and  it  was,  perhaps  not 


signification 


without  some 

that  the  little  curls  which 
framed  the  smooth  forehead, 
within  which  so  much  think- 
ing was  done,  always  gave 
Flossy  the  idea  of  a  pair  of 
quotation  marks. 

To  Grandpa  Tangleskein 
(whose  portrait  hung  over 
the  piano)  all  the  crooked  things  of  this  world  were 
made  straight,  for  he  had  been  dead  these  many 


years. 


6 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


Papa  Tangleskein  had  a  pretty  clear  head  to  begin 
with,  but  he  had  been  a  prominent  and  conscientious 
Republican  since  the  formation  of  the  party,  and 
now  

Mamma  Tangleskein  was  not  carried  away  by  her 
imagination.  Sermons,  politics,  if  they  entered  at 
one  ear,  went  straight  out  at  the  other,  without  so 
much  as  tying  themselves  into  a  knot  or  a  single 
refractory  twist  with  a  single  idea  in  her  brain. 
Mamma  Tangleskein  was  a  most  methodical  body, 
but  she  was  remarkably  absent-minded.  She  made 
it  a  point,  in  order  not  to  twist  things  up  as  the  other 
members  of  the  family  did,  that  she  would  only  think 
of  one  thing  at  a  time.  Unfortunately  it  took  her 
just  twice  as  long  to  think  of  things,  to  classify  them, 
and  place  them  in  their  proper  divisions,  as  it  did 
for  the  things  themselves  to  happen ;  and  so  she 
gradually  fell  behind,  thinking  of  things  that  hap- 
pened yesterday,  the  day  before  yesterday,  last  week, 
week  before  last,  last  month,  last  spring,  last  year, 
year  before  last,  and  so  on;  just  like  a  clock  that 
keeps  losing  time,  until  her  thinking  got  so  dread- 
fully old-fashioned,  that  she  might  almost  as  well  not 
have  thought  at  all. 


THE  PALETTE. 


7 


Then  came  Flossy,  a  bright-faced,  sweet  little  girl, 
with  all  sorts  of  loving  thoughts  and  naughty  incli- 
nations, longings  to  be  good,  and  disagreeable  freaks, 
stubborn  wilfulness  and  repentant  moods,  battles  with 
hateful  feelings,  with  alternate  defeat  and  victory,  a 
peppery  temper  and  an  affectionate  disposition,  fits 
of  the  sulks  and  generous  impulses,  —  in  short,  the 
most  tangled-up  character  that  ever  an  eleven-year- 
old  child  possessed;  and  yet  one  that  needed  only 
to  have  its  bright  threads  placed  on  the  magical  reel 
of  wise  and  loving  care  to  have  them  wound  into 
golden  strands  ready  for  the  weaving  of  some  beau- 
tiful and  perfect  life  pattern. 

Ruby  was  Flossy 's  almost  inseparable  friend  and 
playfellow.  Ruby  was  a  boy  of  course.  Whoever 
heard  of  a  girl  eleven  years  old  whose  favorite  play- 
mate was  some  other  girl.  Girls  do  fall  in  love  with 
each  other,  but  not  until  they  reach  their  teens,  when 
they  begin  to  put  up  their  hair  and  read  novels  and  go 
to  boarding-school,  and  think  that  it  isn't  quite  proper 
to  chew  gum  and  like  boys.  Ruby,  like  all  genuine 
boys  who  have  not  yet  begun  to  think  that  it  is 
manly  to  smoke  cigars  and  to  affect  to  look  with 
contempt  on  womankind,  had  a  chivalrous  liking 


8 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


for  all  girls,  and  a  special  admiration  for  girls  like 
Flossy. 

Flossy's  home  was  a  city  house  with  a  brownstone 
front.  Ruby  lived  just  across  the  street,  in  the  top- 
most flat  of  the  Grand  Mogul  Hotel.  His  father's 
name  was  on  the  little  silvered  doorplate  that  cor- 
responded to  the  silvered  knob  that  rang  a  bell  in 
the  fifth  story.    It  read,  — 


(£.  futbett*  Po*e,  gtrttet. 


Ruby's  name  was  E.  Rubens  Rose,  too.  What  the  E 
stood  for  Flossy  never  cared  to  inquire;  it  might 
have  been  Excelsior  or  Evaporation,  and  it  would  not 
have  hindered  Ruby  Rose  from  being  just  the  nicest 
boy  in  the  whole  world  to  her.  She  liked  Ruby's 
mother  too,  and  she  often  climbed  all  those  stairs 
to  see  her,  and  when  Mr.  Rose  was  in  special  good 
humor,  or  when  he  was  not  at  home,  she  and  Ruby 
would  play  in  the  studio,  for  Mr.  Rose  had  his  stu- 
dio in  the  front  room  instead  of  down  town,  where 
those  of  most  of  the  other  artists  were.  It  was  a 
large  room  with  one  great  northern  window.  Mr. 


THE  PALETTE.  9 

Rose  had  chosen  to  be  so  very  high  up  not  because 
he  "  felt  himself  above  "  other  people  or  because  he 
liked  to  go  up  and  down  stairs,  but  the  house  over- 
topped all  others  in  the  vicinity,  and  consequently 
the  light  was  not  interfered  with  by  shadows  or  re- 
flections, which  are  a  great  annoyance  to  an  artist 
in  his  work. 

The  furnishing  of  this  room,  like  that  of  studios  gen- 
erally, was  peculiar.  The  object  which  first  attracted 
attention  on  entering  was  the  great  easel ;  it  occu- 
pied the  centre  of  the 
apartment.  Not  that 
there  was  anything  re- 
markably attractive  in 
this  piece  of  mechan- 
ism, but  because  it  usu- 
ally held  some  paint- 
ing,—  and  Mr.  Rose's 
pictures  were  all  of 
them  joys  forever.  At 
one  side  of  the  easel 
was  a  little  platform 
on  rollers  which  served  the  children  alternately  as 
pulpit,  auctioneer's  stand,  or  a  train  of  cars.  This 


4 


IO 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


was  the  "  model  stand,"  and  here  Flossy  had  seen, 
on  some  days,  beautiful  ladies,  and  sometimes  ladies 
who  were  not  beautiful,  .  richly  dressed,  sitting  for 
portraits  for  which  they  were  glad  to  pay  large  sums, 
and  on  other  days  little  street  boys,  ragged  and  dirty, 
—  some  Italian  organ-grinder's  handsome  child  with 
his  tambourine  or  monkey,  or  a  comical  little  darkey 
with  rows  of  glittering  teeth  and  great  expressive 
eyes.  Flossy  wondered  how  they  could  afford  to 
have  their  portraits  painted,  until  she  noticed  one 
day  that  Mr.  Rose  paid  them  for  sitting  as  models 
Sometimes  instead  of  a  living  model  Mr.  Rose  placed 
his  jointed  lady  upon  the.  stand.  She  was  like  the 
ones  Flossy  had  seen  in  the  shop  windows,  only  not 
nearly  so  beautiful,  and  her  chignon  did  not  in  the 
least  compare  with  that  of  the  bride  in  the  great 
"  Hair  Emporium."  She  was  only  a  great  wooden 
doll  with  a  very  ugly  and  battered  face  ;  but  some- 
times Mr.  Rose  unlocked  a  handsome  carved  cabi- 
net, and  took  from  its  drawers  wonderful  costumes 
of  velvet  and  embroidered  satin  and  heavy  gold- 
flowered  brocade,  with  laces  which  made  his  fash- 
ionable lady  sitters  throw  up  their  white  hands  in 
envy  and   admiration,  and  when   his  jointed  lady 


THE  PALETTE. 


was  dressed  in  them  to  his  satisfaction,  Mr.  Rose 
would  sit  down  and  paint  a  queen  or  some  ^reat 


princess.  Flossy  never  forgot  how  vexed  he  once 
was,  when  his  picture  was  nearly  done,  because  dur- 
ing his  absence  she  had  dressed  herself  up  in  the 


I  2 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


jointed  lady's  finery.  "  I  shall  never"  get  those  folds 
again,"  he  had  exclaimed  in  despair,  and  then  as  he 
caught  sight  of  the  quaint  little  figure  before  him, 
with  her  soft  flaxen  hair  floating  down  over  the 
rich  costume,  he  had  thrown  his  jointed  lady  into 
a  corner  and  lifted  her  to  the  model-stand,  and  with 
the  exclamation,  "  you  must  pay  me  for  this  piece 
of  mischief,  little  lady ! "  had  turned  his  former  pic- 
ture to  the  wall  and  painted  her  instead. 

There  was  no  carpet  on  the  studio  floor,  but  visit- 
ors caught  their  feet  occasionally  in  handsome  Per- 
sian and  Algerian  rugs.  Portfolios  of  photographs, 
etchings  and  engravings,  with  scrap-books  of  sketches, 
canvasses,  and  quantities  of  artistic  rubbish  were  scat- 
tered about  in  picturesque  disorder.  A  carved  ebony 
table  occupied  one  side  of  the  room,  and  a  gaily 
striped  Spanish  cloak  was  thrown  half  across  it  by 
way  of  table-cloth.  The  gaslights  on  each  side  of 
the  real  Venetian  mirror  were  cast  to  represent  twisted 
snakes,  and  when  lighted  the  serpent  mouths  darted 
out  tongues  of  flame.  A  very  handsome  old  clock, 
uhich  Mr.  Rose  said  was  in  the  style  of  the  Re- 
naissance, stood  against  the  wall ;  on  one  side  of  it 
hung  an  imitation  silver  dish  copied  from  the  work 


4 

THE  PALETTE, 


13 


of  Benvenuto  Cellini,  and  most  beautifully  embossed 
and  engraved;  on  the  other  side  was  a  great  plate  of 
eels  imitated  from  some  costly  Palissy  dish.  Across 
one  end  of  the  room  hung  a  curtain  of  ancient  tapes- 
try from  the  looms  of  Ghent,  the  faded  figures  dim 
and  ghost-like  through  the  mist  of  years.  Curious 
people  generally  lifted  this  cur- 
tain to  see  what  was  behind  it,  Jj 
and  were  startled  by  a  ghastly  j'^ 
skeleton  placed  here  for  the  ex- 
press purpose  of  frightening 
them.  This,  with  some  ugly 
Japanese  idols,  bowls,  and  jars, 
which  decorated  the  tops  of 
several  cabinets,  completed  the  furnishing  of  the 
apartment.  It  seemed  like  an  enchanted  palace  to 
Flossy,  everything  was  so  strange  and  wonderful,  so 
different  from  the  commonplace  comfort  and  even 
luxury  of  her  own  home,  where  the  furniture  of  the 
parlors  had  cost  as  much  as  that  of  Mr.  Rose's  studio, 
but  where  there  was  nothing  from  the  great  pier-glass 
to  the  costly  lace  curtains  and  bronze  mantel  orna- 
ments, that  was  not  exactly  like  the  appointments 
of  every  other  set  of  parlors  in  their  block.  She 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


regarded  Mr.  Rose  as  some  mighty  magician,  like 
the  geniis  in  the  story  of  Aladdin's  Wonderful  Lamp, 
but  she  had  half  pitied  as  well  as  feared  him  ever 
since  he  had  told  her  that  it  was  certain  that  art- 
ists could  never  go  to  heaven,  for  the  Mohammedans 
believed  so,  and  the  followers  of  the  Commander  of 
the  Faithful  were  forbidden  to 
make  a  picture  of  any  human  being, 
under  penalty  of  being  required  in 
the  next  world  to  create  souls  for 
every  face  and  form  which  they 
had  made.  It  was  long  ago  that 
Mr.  Rose  had  told  her  this,  and 
now  that  she  was  eleven  years  old 
doubts  had  crept  in  as  to  the  power  of  the  Koran 
to  deny  any  one  an  entrance  to  heaven.  But  the 
old  awe  and  mystery,  the  feeling  that  the  studio  was 
fairy  ground,  still  clung  to  her,  and  she  would  not 
have  been  surprised  to  have  seen  anything  extraor- 
dinary happen  here. 

In  describing  the  furnishing  of  the  studio  I  have 
forgotten  to  mention  the  most  important  object  of 
all,  — the  artist's  palette.  It  lay  on  his  great  paint- 
box with  a  number  of  brushes  and  a  slender  "  mahl- 


THE  PALETTE. 


stick"  (or  rest  upon  which  Mr.  Rose  supported  his 
wrist  when  painting)  thrust  through  the  opening  for 
the  thumb.  The  colors  were  arranged  in  little  daubs 
around  its  margin.  Flossy  thought  it  must  be  very 
nice  to  mess  in  them,  stirring  the  different  soft  tints 
together  with  the  thin  yielding  blade  of  the  palette- 
knife,  but  she  never  dared  ask  Mr.  Rose  to  let  her 
try. 

One  dav  when  the  artist  was  not  at  home  and  the 
children  had  tired  themselves  out  with  play,  they 
sat  down  on  the  model-table  to  rest  and  think  up 
some  new  game.  Close  beside  them  lay  a  large  sheet 
of  paper  and  a  crayon-holder  containing  a  bit  of  char- 
coal, with  which  Mr.  Rose 
had  begun  a  caricature  for 
one  of  the  illustrated  news- 
papers, and  the  palette  itself 
lay  temptingly  near.  ,j| 

Flossy  was  too  true  a 
daughter  of  Eve  to  resist. 
She  drew  out  one  of  the  brushes  and  began  to  draw 
connecting  lines  from  one  little  mound  of  paint  to 
another. 

"  Stop ! "  cried  a  commanding  voice.    Flossy  looked 


i6 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


up  expecting  to  see  Mr.  Rose,  but  no  one  had  entered 
the  studio.    "Did  you  speak,  Ruby  Rose?"  she  asked. 

"No,"  replied  the  boy,  "but  you  did;  you  said 
stop!   I  heard  you.    You  can't  fool  me." 
"  But  I  did  n't,"  persisted  Flossy. 
"  Of  course  she  did  n't,"  exclaimed  the  same  voice. 
Flossy  looked  frightened. 

"Who  are  you,  any  how?"  asked  Ruby,  stoutly. 
9  "  My  name  is  Tint,"  said 


hinged  rulers  now  thrust  themselves  into  a  bladder 
of  Antwerp  paint,  and  sprouted  (that  was  Flossy's 
word  for  it)  at  their  extremities  into  two  grotesque 
hands,  which  lifted  the  palette  and  placed  it  as  a 
sort  of  head  on  the  paint-bag,  then  it  rose  stiffly 
upon  a  pair  of  paint-brush  legs,  and  steadying  it- 


And  then  Flossy  and 
Ruby  both  saw  them.  It 
was  the  palette  who  had 
first    spoken ;    two  brass- 


the  voice. 


"  And  mine  is  Carica- 
ture, Carrie  for  short,"  re- 
marked another.  "  We  are 
the  two  Paint  Bogies." 


THE  PALETTE. 


17 


self  with  the  "  mahl-stick,"  struck  a  theatrical  attitude 
and  addressed  her,  —  "  Don't  you  know  that  you  must 
not  mix  up  these  colors  ?  " 

"  Of  course  you  must  not,"  added  the  other  small 
voice,  and  Flossy  looked  about  for  the  other  Paint 
Bogy. 

"  My  sister  Caricature,  Carrie  for  short,"  said  the 
palette  Bogy,  first  'introducing  himself  as  Tint.  1 
There  she  stood,  just  where  the  crayon-holder  had 
been ;  she  wore  an  orange -colored  polonaise,  made 
in  the  cuirass  style,  which  was  then  fashionabfe; 
on  looking  closer  Flossy  saw  that  it  was  really  a 
cuirass,  and  like  the  ancient  suits  of  armor,  was 
made  of  brass.  This  queer  garment  was  belted  in 
by  two  broad  bands  of  the  same  material ;  from  under 
this  polonaise  fell  a  skirt  as  black  as  charcoal,  and 
the  queer  little  body  had  a  face  as  perfectly  white 
as  a  lump  of  chalk.  She  was  very  slender,  and  re- 
markably active,  not  remaining  at  rest  for  a  single 
instant,  gliding  backward  and  forward  over  the  great 
sheets  of  white  paper  with  a  steady  skating  move- 
ment, and  Flossy  noticed  that  the  curves  which  she 
cut  were  not  meaningless,  for  funny  sketches  out- 
lined themselves  in  her  track,  and  whenever  she  gave 


i8 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


a  little  spring  into  the  air  and  began  again  it  was 
the  signal  that  one  of  the  sketches  was  completed. 

"  Don't  you  know,"  reiterated  Tint,  mechanically 
lifting  one  arm  and  pointing  to  his  face,  which  the 
children  now  saw  was  ornamented  nearly  along  its 
whole  circumference  with  a  border  of  many  colored 
spots,  which  framed  one  cheek,  arched  his  forehead, 
and  only  stopped  at  his  right  ear,  — "  Don't  you 
know  that 

'  These  be  freckles,  Fairy  favors, 
In  these  freckles  lie  their  savors.'" 

"  What  are  savors  ? "  asked  Ruby  Rose. 

"  Stories,"  replied  Tint,  "  and  consequently  Fairy 
favors  are  fairy  stories." 

"  Won't  you  please  tell  us  some  ?  *  begged  Flossy. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Tint ;  "  but  I  am  a  Paint 
Bogy,  you  know,  and  each  of  the  stories  locked  up 
in  these  paint-freckles  is  about  Paint  or  Painters  or 
Paintings  or  something  of  the  kind,  and  may  be  you 
won't  care  to  hear  them." 

"  Drive  on,"  said  Ruby  Rose. 

"  And  I  '11  illustrate,"  exclaimed  Caricature,  and 
so  she  did ;  all  the  while  that  Tint  was  speaking 
she  kept  making  her  sketches,  which  Flossy  gath- 


THE  PALETTE. 


l9 


ered  up  carefully  as  quickly  as  they  were  made,  and 
when  her  paper  was  covered  supplied  her  with  more. 
Sometimes  the  sketches  were  very  droll  and  as  wide 
from  the  subject-matter  of  Tint's  discourse  as  could 
well  be  imagined,  and  at  other  times  they  were  as 
serious  as  one  could  wish.  She  seemed  to  begin 
with  good  intentions,  and  then —  But  you  shall  judge 
for  yourself,  for  here  are  sketches  and  stories  just  as 
they  were  seen  and  heard,  or  just  as  they  took  place, 
for  the  Paint  Bogies  had  a  power  more  wonderful 
than  that  of  telling — that  of  making  them  happen 
—  so  that  many  of  the  stories  in  this  book  came 
into  the  ordinary  lives  of  the  children,  and  were 
lived  and  acted  by  Flossy  Tangleskein  and  Ruby 
Rose. 


ULTRAMARINE. 


OVER  THE  SEA. 

"  Green  is  forsaken, 
And  yellow 's  forsworn, 
But  blue  is  the  sweetest 
Color  e'er  worn," 

ANG  Flossy  as  she  poked 
over  the  snarl  of  ribbons  and 
bits  of  lace  in  the  upper 
drawer  of  her  bureau,  finally 
selecting  and  drawing  dex- 
terously from  the  mass  a  piece 
of  turquoise  gros-grain  with 
which  to  tie  her  flaxen  braids, 
and  remembering  as  she  did  so  that  the  color  on 
which  the  Paint  Bogy  had  promised  them  a  story 
was  ultramarine;  the  word,  he  said,  meant  "over 
the  sea,"  and  the  color  was  the  bluest  of  blue.  "  I 
wonder  if  he  will  tell  it  to  us  to-night,"  she  thought, 
for  Flossy  was  invited  to  take  dinner  at  the  Rose's, 


24 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


and  Ruby  and  she  had  predetermined  on  slipping 
away  to  the  studio  after  the  meal  and  invoking  the 
Bogies.  They  had  hardly  done  so  when,  to  their 
dismay,  Mr.  Rose  walked  into  the  studio  accompan- 
ied by  Ruby's  Uncle  Wylde.  The  latter  gentleman, 
who  was  also  an  artist,  went  straight  to  Mr.  Rose's 
paint-box,  and  selecting  a  few  colors,  took  up  the 
palette  and  proceeded  to  cover  it  with  paint,  or  "  set 
it,"  as  the  artistic  term  is.  Flossy  was  sure  that  she 
saw  a  distressed  expression  on  the  palette's  face  which 
had  begun  to  humanize,  and  was  now  obliged  to  sink 
back  again  into  its  usual  appearance  of  woodenness ; 
while  Ruby  asserted  afterward  that  just  as  Uncle 
Wylde  put  his  thumb  through  the  hole  in  the  pal- 
ette, which  served  the  Paint  Bogy  as  mouth,  he 
heard  a  choked  voice,  "  Hear  him."  At  any  rate 
they  had  no  choice  but  to  listen,  for  Uncle  Wylde 
was  a  great  talker,  and  no  sailor  could  tell  more 
interesting  stories  or  loved  to  tell  them,  more  than 
he. 

"  How  did  it  ever  happen  that  you  became  an 
artist,  Uncle  Wylde?"  asked  Ruby;  "I  should. think 
you  would  have  made  a  much  better  sea-captain  or 
commodore  or  pirate  or  something." 


OVER  THE  SEA. 


25 


"  I  used  to  think  so  myself,"  replied  Uncle  Wylde, 
as  he  deliberately  spread  the  ultramarine  in  great 
wavy  lines  upon  a  panel  with  his  palette-knife,  drag- 
ging into  it  dashes  of  white  and  green  until  it  began 
to  assume  the  appearance  of  the  open  sea,  for  Uncle 


Wylde  loved  the  sea  as  much  as  any  sailor.  He 
was  what  is  called  a  Marine  Painter,  and  Ruby  called 
his  pictures  waterscapes  to  distinguish  them  from 
the  landscapes  which  his  father  sometimes  painted. 
"When  I  was  a  very  small  boy,"  continued  Uncle 
Wylde,  "  we  lived  in  Camden  in  Maine.  Not  allowed 
to  go  outside  the  yard,  I  used  to  run  to  its  farthest 
limit,  climb  the  fence,  and  sit  staring  off  at  the  'big 
sea-water'  for  hours  at  a  time;  the  breezes  seemed 
to  blow  the  salt  spray  into  my  blood  and  fill  it  with 


26 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


a  sort  of  madness  for  the  sea;  every  sail-boat  that 
went  courtesying  by  appeared  to  signal  and  beckon 
to  me  upon  my  forlorn  perch ;  I  envied  the  very 
clams  that  the  women  dug  up  with  hoes  upon  the 
beach,  at  least  they  had  known  what  life  was.  My 
mother  told  me  that  my  first  attempt  at  singing 
was  in  trying  to  catch  the  song  which  a  noisy  sailor 
roared  out  as  he  passed  our  house,  but  it  was  some 
time  before  she  recognized  in  the  '  Four  more  bel- 
lows, four  more  bellows,'  which  was  my  version  of 
what  the  sailor  had  sung,  ( l  ^ 
any  resemblance  to  the  words 
'  Foamy  billows  '  in  the  orig- 
inal  ditty. 

"  As    I   grew   older  and  Yi$ 
was  allowed  greater  liberty, 
I   explored    the    coast  for 
miles,  and  was  never  so  hap-  j 
py  as  when  I  was  allowed 
to   make   an   excursion   to  *<^£. 
Negro  Head,  or  some  other 
of  the  islands  lying  near,  for 
the  gulls'  eggs  with  which  the  cliffs  were  stored,  or 
to  Rockland,  further  down  the  bay,  to  see  the  ships 


OVER  THE  SEA. 


27 


come  in.  I  have  now  a  small  collection  of  sea-birds' 
eggs  made  at  Negro  Head,  and  a  model  of  a  ship 
neatly  rigged,  with  every  cord 
in  place  and  the  Union  Jack 
flying  from  the  top-gallant  mast, 
that  I  whittled  under  the  super- 
vision of  an  old  man  who  had 
once  been  a  sailor,  and  who 
picked  up  a  living  in  some 
wonderful  way  on  the  docks 
at  Rockland.  I  used  to  envy 
him  as  he  sansr, — 


'  I 've  been  across  the  line 
Where  the  sun  will  burn  your  nose  off, 
And  I 've  been  in  northern  climes 
Where  the  frost  would  bite  your  toes  off.' 

He  told  me  where  every  ship  came  from,  and  I 
soon  became  able  to  tell  an  East  Indiaman  at  a 
single  glance.  The  sailors  often  brought  back  curi- 
osities from  China,  Japan,  and  other  eastern  ports, 
which  they  were  anxious  to  sell,  and  I  always  saved 
up  my  pocket-money  for  weeks  before  a  visit  to 
Rockland,  in  order  to  invest  in  the  cheaper  of  these 
commodities,  —  red  Guinea  beans,  shells,  grotesque 


28 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


designs  gaudily  painted  upon  rice-paper,  a  small  jar 
of  preserved  ginger,  or  a  box  of  Smyrna  fig-paste. 
After  a  time  we  moved  away  from  Camden  to  an 
inland  city;  my  old  life  of  freedom  was  at  an  end, 
and  I  was  now  put  to  hard  study.  Father  was 
determined  to  make  an  artist  of  me,  and  I  cared 
more  for  drawing  and  painting  than  I  really  knew, 
but  I  hated  the  confinement  of  school,  and  as  soon 
as  my  lessons  were  recited,  I  made  all  haste  to  get 
them  out  of  my  head  as  thoroughly  as  possible  by 
resorting  at  once  to  the  public  library,  where  I  bur- 
ied myself  in  stories  of  pirates,  of  naval  battles,  arc- 
tic explorers,  wicked  slave  ships,  blockade  runners, 
merchantmen  or  whalers;  in  short,  anything  with  a 
salty  flavor,  from  Dr.  Kane  to  Captain  Kidd,  or  the 
adventures  of  the  Norsemen,  Eric  the  Red,  and  Lei- 
jor  Thorwald  Ericson.  These  old  adventurers  seemed 
very  noble  to  me  with  their  scorn  of  the  'straw- 
death'  and  love  of  the  'spear-death,'  the  expressive 
names  given  by  them  to  death  in  one's  bed  or  upon 
the  field  of  battle.  I  had  a  step-mother  too,  and 
although  she  was  very  kind  and  good  to  me,  all  my 
favorite  books  agreed  that  step-mothers  were  perse- 
cutors and  tyrants ;  the  drop  of  salt  water  in  my 


OVER  THE  SEA. 


29 


blood  kept  up  a  perpetual  ferment ;  my  father  seemed 
very  cruel  and  unreasonable  to  insist  on  my  study- 
ing, and  at  length,  when  I  was  twelve  years  old,  I 
could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  I  determined  to  run 
away  to  sea. 

"  I  remembered  my  old  friend  at  the  Rockland 
docks  who  had  helped  me  rig  my  little  ship,  and 
I  wrote  to  him  requesting  that  he  would  find  me  a 
position  on  some  vessel  bound  on  the  longest  voy- 
age possible.  My  friend  played  me  false,  for  he  sent 
the  letter  directly  to  my  father  who,  if  he  had  been 
a  narrow-minded  man,  would  have  put  me  face  to 
face  with  my  offence,  and  have  given  me  a  good 
whipping.  My  father  did  what  was  much  better: 
he  knew  that  there  was  no  teacher  like  experience, 
and  he  left  his  business  at  a  time  when  he  could 
ill  be  spared,  to  run  down  to  Rockland  and  arrange 
everything  for  me.  He  had  a  friend,  an  extensive 
ship-owner,  and  he  applied  to  him  first  to  ascertain 
the  most  humane  sea-captain  with  whom  he  had 
relations.  There  happened  to  be  one  just  back  from 
a  voyage  who,  while  he  was  a  strict  disciplinarian, 
was  a  Christian,  and  kept  as  sharp  a  lookout  for 
the  moral  and  physical  interests  of  his  sailors  as 


3o 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


he  did  that  none  of  them  should  fail  in  his  duty 
to  the  ship  or  to  him.  With  this  man  my  father 
had  a  long  conversation,  and  it  was  agreed  that 
I  was  to  have  a  taste  of  service  before  the  mast 
to  show  me  the  real  privation  and  drudgery  of  a 
seaman's  life,  without  any  of  the  abuse  which  so 
frequently  accompanies  it.  The  captain  promised 
to  write  whenever  occasion  offered,  and  to  keep  him 
posted  as  to  my  health  and  behavior  throughout  the 
voyage.  My  father  next  called  on  the  old  sailor  and 
instructed  him  what  to  write  in  answer  to  my  letter; 
he  then  came  home  much  relieved  in  mind,  and  no 
suspicion  as  to  the  object  of  his  trip  ever  occurred 
to  me.  I  fancied  that  he  had  gone  to  New  York 
on  business,  until  years  afterward,  when  he  confessed 
it  all  to  me.  A  few  days  after  my  father's  return 
I  received  the  letter  which  I  had  been  expecting 
impatiently  for  some  time ;  in  another  week  a  ship 
would  start  for  Smyrna,  and  now  was  my  chance. 
Smyrna,  to  my  mind,  meant  fig-paste,  and  I  was 
wild  with  excitement  and  haste  to  be  off.  I  remem- 
ber that  several  times  I  was  on  the  eve  of  dis- 
closing my  secret,  but  father  and  mother  were  both 
delightfully  unsuspecting.    Mother  treated  me  with 


OVER  THE  SEA. 


31 


more  than  usual  tenderness,  and  I  was  more  than 
usually  unappreciative  and  ungrateful ;  the  tears  would 
start  to  her  eyes  and  her  voice  would  tremble 
when  I  answered  her  roughly,  and  once  she  burst 
into  real  sobs  over  her  sewing,  say- 
ing, '  O  Wylde,  Wylde,  if  you  only 
knew  how  I  really  do  love  you.'  My 
heart  misgave  me  then,  but  I  pre- 
tended not  to  hear  her.  She  sewed 
a  great  deal  about  this  time,  and 
dark  rings  came  around  her  eyes  from  sitting  up 
nights  over  her  work.  She  was  making  me  a  sailor 
suit  of  heavy  navy-blue  flannel,  'it  would  be  so  nice 
for  me  to  use  camping  out  next  summer,'  she  said, 
but  she  hurried  to  get  it  done  as  though  July  had 
come.  She  consulted  me  as  to  whether  I  would 
have  an  anchor  or  a  star  worked  in  the  corners 
of  the  collar,  and  I  chose  the  anchor,  of  course. 
She  also  made  me  a  money-belt,  to  wear  next  my 
body,  and  suggested  my  changing  to  it  the  money  • 
in  my  tin  savings-bank.  Long  afterward,  when  in 
my  hammock  counting  over  my  little  store,  I  found 
ten  gold  dollars  sewn  into  the  belt  which  I  had  not 
placed  there.    My  father  gave  me  a  neat  little  knap- 


32 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


sack,  sketching-box  with  set  of  paints,  and  half  a 
dozen  panels ;  he  meant  that  I  should  take  them 
with  me,  but  I  did  not,  though  I  often  regretted 
not  having  done  so,  for  I  saw  many  wonderful  and 
beautiful  scenes  which  I  would  have  liked  to  pic- 
ture. 

"  I  shall  never  forget  the  night  that  I  ran  away. 
I  slipped  into  my  sailor  suit,  took  my  shoes  and 
the  little  bundle  of  things  which  I  had  tied  up  in 
an  old  pocket-handkerchief  in  my  hand,  and  stole 
out  of  my  window.    Walking  cautiously  along  the 


sloping  shed  roof  I 
dropped  as  noiselessly 
as  I  could  to  the 
ground.  I  thought 
that  some  one  struck 
a  light  in  the  house, 


and  I  fled  like  the  wind,  fearing  that  I  was  about 
to  be  detected  and  brought  back.  If  I  could  have 
•  seen  how  my  step-mother,  startled  by  the  slight 
noise  L  made,  crept  up  to  my  chamber  and  wept 
and  prayed  over  my  untouched  bed,  over  the  Bible 
which  she  had  hoped  I  would  take,  but  which  I 
did  not,  over  the  scorned  arid  abused  school-books 


OVER  THE  SEA. 


33 


and  paints,  and  over  every  article  of  clothing  that 
had  belonged  to  her  wayward  boy ! 

"  The  sea  is  a  hard  schoolmaster ;  there  was  little 
of  the  romance  and  freedom  which  I  had  anticipated, 
and  a  great  deal  of  drudgery  and  downright  slavery 
which  I  had  not  in  the  least  expected.  Physically 
and  mentally  I  was  a  delicately  constituted  child, 
and  body  and  mind  revolted  at  the  coarseness  with 
which  they  now  came  in  contact.    There  was  real 

danger  too,  —  storms  for  which 
the  only  possible  ending 
seemed  death.  Sometimes 
_^  in  horrible 

nightmares  I 
seem  to  be 
tossed  again  by 
one  of  those 
storms,  and  then  I  can  realize  the  meaning  of  the 
scriptural  words,  '  the  blackness  of  darkness  forever.' 
There  were  moments  too,  when  I  was  in  great  dan- 
ger of  my  life.  I  shall  never  forget  one  narrow 
escape. 

"  We  had  left  our  cargo  at  Smyrna,  where  we  had 
taken  on  another  for  England,  and  were  to  load 


34  .  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


again  at  Liverpool  for  America.  We  had  turned 
Capes  Finisterre  and  Ortegal,  and  were  bearing  away 
from  the  northern  coast,  when  an  awful  storm  arose 
just  as  we  were  opposite  the  throat  of  the  Bay  of 
Biscay.  These  waters  are  noted  for  their  stormy 
character.  When  a  little  boy,  in  Camden,  I  had 
learned  from  the  sailors  to  sing, — 

1  Now 'dashed  upon  the  billow 

Our  opening  timbers  creak, 
Each  fears  a  watery  pillow ' ; 

and 

1  To  cling  to  slippery  shrouds 

Each  breathless  seaman  crowds,  ^ 

As  she  lay 

Till  the  day 
In  the  Bay  of  Biscay  O.' 

Even  when  seen  from  the  shore  there  is  something 
frightful  here  in  the  might  of  the  ocean. 

"  The  only  safe  harbor  during  storms  is  St.  Jean 
de  Luz,  where  nature  has  thrown  a  breakwater  half- 
way across  the  bay.  Even  here  the  sea  encroaches 
slowly  upon  the  land ;  at  low  water  you  see  the 
ruins  of  the  former  city  stretching  out  into  the  At- 
lantic. The  sea  shows  them  to  us  as  though  to 
remind  us  of  its  power,  and  then  rolls  in  a  great 


OVER  THE  SEA. 


35 


jealous  wave  that  covers  them  again  from  our  sight. 
At  Biarritz  the  Emperor  Napoleon  endeavored  to 
form  an  artificial  breakwater.  Millions  were  expend- 
ed, huge  boulders,  weighing  many  tons,  were  sunk 
in  a  line,  but  the  sea  played  with  them  as  though 
they  were  pebbles,  and  several  were  carried  by  the 
tremendous  surf  over  a  pier  as  high  as  a  house. 
Biarritz  and  St.  Jean  de  Luz  are  not  far  from  each 
other;  they  are  the  last  seaport  towns  in  France, 
and  lie  just  in  the  corner  of  the  Bay  of  Biscay. 
We  were  opposite  them  and  not  quite  out  of  sight 
of  land,  when  the  storm  struck  us.  As  the  sun 
went  down  the  sky  was  awful  to  look  at ;  the  clouds 
burned  like  iron  in  a  smelting  furnace,  and  the  heav- 
ens were  piled  high  with  them.  The  waves,  too, 
were  full  of  flame  reflections,  —  broken  brands  of 
crimson,  and  sparks  of  orange  and  pink.  The  wind 
was  freshening  from  the  west,  and  the  crew  put  forth 
all  their  efforts  to  reach  land  before  nightfall.  Dark- 
ness came  upon  us ;  the  land  was  there,  a  long  dark 
streak,  but  we  dared  not  make  directly  for  it,  for 
fear  of  finding  ourselves  before  the  terraced  and  em- 
battled shore  of  Biarritz.  The  clouds  were  inky 
now,  and  were  fast  blackening  the  whole  sky.  Great 


36 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


swells  of  water  raced  past  the  ship  like  schools  of 
whales.  I  was  talking  with  a  sailor  on  the  forward 
part  of  the  deck,  when  one  of  the  sea-monsters  reached 
out  a  powerful  foam-fringed  paw  and  swept  me  from 
the  deck.  In  this  terrible  abyss,  drowning,  as  I  then 
thought  myself,  one  thought  flashed  through  my 
mind,  '  God  be  merciful  to  me,  a  sinner.'  At  that 
instant  I  felt  myself  saved ;  the  same  wave  which 
had  torn  me  from  the  ship,  at  its  next  upheaval 
carried  me  swiftly  forward  by  the  side  of  the  vessel, 
and  the  man  at  the  stern  caught  me  as  I  was  pass- 
ing and  drew  me  on  board.  Soon  after  a  wan  light 
was  shed  by  the  rising  moon,  and  the  man  at  the 
lookout  recognized  before  us,  not  the  stony  wall  of 
Biarritz,  but  the  Rocher  of  Sainte  Barbe,  and  the 
lighthouse  of  the  safe  harbor  of  St.  Jean  de  Luz. 

"  This  was  my  last  as  well  as  first  voyage  as  a 
sailor.  Even  these  dreadful  experiences  could  not 
efface  my  love  for  the  sea,  but  I  had  learned  to 
distinguish  between  the  sea  itself  and  a  seaman's 
life.  I  had  discovered,  too,  that  in  common  with 
moody  young  ladies,  the  sea  was  subject  to  fits  of 
rage  which  rendered  admiration  of  her  as  a  lady- 
love altogether  safer  and  pleasanter  than  the  closer 


OVER  THE  SEA. 


37 


intimacy  of  wedded  life.  And  the  sea  is  still  my 
lady-love.  I  spend  my  time  in  studying  her  moods, 
and  in  making  records.  No  one  appreciates  her 
smiles  more  than  myself,  and  I  can  almost  sympa- 
thize with  her  when  she  lashes  herself  into  a  passion, 
since  I  am  no  longer  within  reach  of  her  fury.  I 
have  many  rivals  in  her  good  graces,  for  the  list  of 
marine  painters  is  a  long  one,  and  they  are  happier, 
every  one,  than  the  jolliest  tar,  since  it  is  their  brush 
and  not  their  ship  that  glides 

1  O'er  the  glad  waters  of  the  dark  blue  sea, 
Their  thoughts  as  boundless,  and  their  souls  as  free.' " 


TERRA  VERDE. 


TERRA  VERDE. 

CHRISTMAS  GREENS. 

?HE  acquaintance  began  at  the  Flower 
Mission.  Flossy  had  gone  down  to 
it  with  Ruby  Rose's  mother,  for  the 
Mission  was  one  of  Mrs.  Rose's  par- 
ticular pets.  She  loved  flowers,  and 
had  a  grand  place  to  cultivate  them, 
"just  as  good  a  place  as  the  hang- 
ing gardens  of  Babylon,"  she  used 
to  say.  The  tin  roof  of  a  house  one 
story  lower  than  their  flat  stretched 
for  quite  a  distance  just  under  her 
dining-room  windows.  The  owner  of 
the  roof,  in  consideration  of  a  regular  rent,  had  given 
Mrs.  Rose  permission  to  have  large  boxes  filled  with 
earth  placed  here  in  which  to  cultivate  flowers.  A 
carpenter  cut  the  dining-room  windows  down  to  the 
floor,  and  then  with  a  step  or  two  it  was  an  easy 


42 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


thing  to  walk  down  into  Mrs.  Rose's  garden.  A 
high  cornice  formed  a  sort  of  balustrade,  so  that  it 
was  perfectly  safe  to  walk  here.  This  was  retired 
enough,  for,  as  I  have  told  you,  the  house  in  which 
the  Roses  had  taken  the  topmost  flat  was  higher 
than  any  others  in  the  neighborhood,  so  that  there 
were  no  windows  but  their  own  to  overlook  the 
garden.  Here  Mrs.  Rose  worked  among  her  flow- 
ers ;  when  winter  came  she  gave  away  all  for  which 
she  could  not  find  room  on  a  large  flower-stand,  and 
through  the  summer  it  was  remarkable  how  many 
basketfuls  went  to  the  Flower  Mission.  Among  the 
children  who  waited  about  the  Mission  door,  hungry- 
eyed,  for  the  baskets  of  beauty  that  went 
and  came,  was  little  Hilary  O'Hologan. 
She  was  very  neat  and  clean ;  the  scant 
calico  dress  was  redolent  with  strong  yel- 
low soap ;  a  pair  of  old  gaiters  were  laced 
neatly  over  her  clean,  but  stockingless 
feet;  and  her  fiery  red  hair,  thoroughly 
combed,  was  drawn  tightly  back  from  her 
face  into  a  little  knob  at  the  back  of  her 
head ;  the  face  itself  was  spotless,  except 
for  the  freckles  that  bridged  her  small,  upturned  nose. 


CHRISTMAS  GREENS. 


43 


She  touched  Flossy  s  arm  timidly  as  she  went  up 
stairs.  "  If  yer  plaze,  Miss,"  she  said,  "  wud  yer  be 
afther  asking  if  it 's  a  shmall  bit  of  shamrock  they 've 
got.  It 's  me  mither's  birthday,  and  it 's  minding 
her  of  the  ould  country  I 'd  be  afther  doin'." 

"  I  '11  see  what  I  can  do  for  you,"  replied  Flossy. 

"  Just  what  is  shamrock?"  asked  the  lady  to  whom 
Flossy  preferred  Hilary's  request. 

"  I  suppose  our  common  white  clover  comes  the 
nearest  to  it  of  anything  we  have  in  this  country," 
replied  Mrs.  Rose. 

"Well,  luckily  we  have  just  received  a  quantity 
of  it.  A  box  of  flowers  came  this  morning  from 
Wisdom  with  a  letter  written  by  a  Mrs.  Stockstill 
on  behalf  of  a  society  of  girls  called  the  Venetians; 
she  says  that  a  member  of  their  society  is  in  Bos- 
ton, and  has  written  them  about  the  Mission.  I 
wonder  who  it  can  be.  The  flowers  are  beautiful, 
and  they  are  packed  in  moist  white  clover.  Here, 
little  girl,  you  can  make  a  knot  of  them  for  the 
child  at  the  door." 

Flossy  tied  up  a  great  bouquet  of  the  sweet,  heavy- 
headed  clover,  massing  it  in  plenty  of  the  triplicate 
leaves,  and  blushing  as  she  thought  that  it  was  all 


44 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


owing  to  the  society  of  which  she  had  been  a  mem- 
ber during  her  last  summer  in  the  country  that  she 
could  give  the  child  the  pleasure.  Mrs.  Rose  ascer- 
tained that  she  lived  in  Emerald-Isle  Place,  a  back 
street  near  Flossy  s  home. 

At  their  last  talk  with  the  Paint  Bogies,  Tint  had 
remarked  that  the  next  color  would  be  Terra  Verde, 
and  when  Flossy  had  asked  what  that  meant,  had 
replied,  Green  Earth.  It  had  seemed  to  her  then 
that  a  story  on  this  color  must  be  one  about  Ire- 
land, the  Emerald  Isle,  and  now  that  the  name  came 
up  again,  in  that  strange  recurrent  way  that  odd 
names  have  of  tumbling  against  you  repeatedly  when 
you  have  met  and  thought  about  them  for  the  first 
time,  she  determined  to  be  wide  awake,  for  perhaps 
she  would  find  her  story  acted  out  in  real  life,  in- 
stead of  told.  One  day  Flossy  set  out  to  hunt  up 
Hilary.  The  tenement  was  easily  found,  for  it  was 
on  a  corner  over  a  pawnbroker's  shop,  and  there 
was  a  conspicuous  sign  above  one  window:  — 

hous  cleanin  Taken  in 
by  misses  Ohollogan, 
also  washing  &  Irening 


CHRISTMAS  GREENS. 


45 


Flossy  wondered  how  Mrs.  O'Hollogan  could  pos- 
sibly take  in  house-cleaning,  but  she  had  not  time 
to  puzzle  her  head  over  it,  for  that  remarkable  wo- 
man had  been  actively  engaged  in  sweeping  down 
her  front  stairs,  and  now  stood  upon  the  doorstep, 
broom  in  hand.  Flossy  wondered 
whether,  when  out  of  work,  she  al- 
ways stood  there,  a  sort  of  adver- 
tisement in  effigy  of  her  profession, 
like  the  wooden  Indian  before  the 
cigar  store.  It  would  have  been  a 
good  idea,  for  few  housekeepers 
could  have  resisted  being  "  taken 
in "  by  the  active-appearing,  smil- 
ing woman,  and  the  vista  of  cleanly  -^5^5 
scrubbed  hall  and  stairs  behind  her.  'S^^t 

"  Are  you  Hilary  O'Hollogan  s  mother  ?  "  asked 
Flossy. 

"  Bless  your  swate  soul,  and  it 's  Hilary  O'Hollo- 
gan's  mother  that  I  am,"  replied  Mrs.  O'Hollogan. 

"  Mamma  wants  to  hire  a  little  girl  to  take  care 
of  my  brother,"  said  Flossy,  "and  I  came  to  see  if 
you  would  let  Hilary  come." 

This  was  another  instance  of  Mrs.  Tangleskein's 


46 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


old-fashioned  method  of  thinking;  she  was  now  just 
six  years  behindhand.  When  Flossy 's  brother  was 
a  baby  there  had  been  considerable  difficulty  finding 
a  nurse  for  him,  Mrs.  Tangleskein  not  having  time 
to  attend  to  the  matter.  Her  mind  was  then  much 
exercised  as  to  whether  she  should  scrape  the  old 
towels  into  lint  for  the  soldiers,  although  the  war 
had  come  to  an  end  three  years  before.  She  had 
reached  this  question  at  last,  and  despite  the  fact 
that  Herbert  was  a  great  boy  and  went  to  the  prim- 
ary school,  the  good  woman  was  hunting  everywhere 
for  a  little  girl  to  take  care  of  an  infant.  She  de- 
pended a  great  deal  upon  Flossy  to  set  her  right,  half 
aware,  no  doubt,  of  the  tardiness  with  which  she 
reached  conclusions;  but  just  now  there  were  other 
ways  in  which  a  little  girl  like  Hilary  could  be  made 
useful  in  the  household,  and  Flossy,  sure  that  she 
would  find  her  proper  place  on  arrival,  did  not  put 
her  mother  all  wrong  by  trying  to  put  her  right.  So 
Hilary  came ;  her  principal  occupation  was  answering 
Aunt  Toothaker's  bell,  but  she  speedily  became  a 
favorite  with  all  members  of  the  family.  There  was 
one  subject  of  which  Hilary  never  tired,  and  on  which 
she  would  descant  whenever  opportunity  was  afforded 


CHRISTMAS  GREENS. 


47 


her,  and  that  was  the  pawnbrokers  shop  under  her  own 
home.  According  to  Hilary,  there  never  was  a  Jew  so 
pitiless  or  so  mercenary,  so  wicked  or  so  rich,  as  Mr. 
Aaronson,  and  no  museum  of  Fine  Arts  or  curi- 
osities which  com- 
bined the  attrac- 
tions of  his  shop. 
In  the  intervals  of 
scrubbing  down  the 
front  stairs  with 
sand  and  a  scrub- 
bing-brush, so  well 
used  that  nothing 
was  left  of  it  but 
the  back,  Hilary  had  made  character  studies  of  the 
people  who  passed  in  and  out  under  the  three  gilt 
balls. 

Grandma  Tangleskein  was  more  interested  in  these 
stories  than  any  one  else  in  the  family.  She  had  read 
somewhere  of  a  society  for  redeeming  the  pledges 
of  poor  people  who  were  unable  to  rescue  articles, 
valuable  in  themselves  or  from  association,  and  for 
which  they  had  received  very  inadequate  loans. 
"  What  man,  so  inefficient  a  being,  has  done,  most 


48 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


certainly  woman  may  do,"  said  Grandma  Tangle- 
skein,  as  she  pinned  her  best  set  of  false  curls  care- 
fully into  her  company  cap,  and  smoothed  the  creases 
out  of  her  black  silk  mantilla  preparatory  to  making 
a  few  calls  with  Flossy.  Their  first  visit  was  to 
Mrs.  O'Hollogan,  from  whom  she  obtained  a  list  of 


lines  and  dots  somewhat  resembling  the  musical  staff 
and  notes.  Mr.  Aaronson  had  a  quantity  of  shells 
scattered  about  the  place,  a  fact  which  Grandma's  sharp 


people  who,  that  wor- 
thy woman  knew,  were 
unwilling  customers 
of  Mr.  Aaronson. 
She  next  made  a  tour 
of  inspection  through 
the  pawnbroker's  shop 
under  pretence  of  be- 
ing very  fond  of  shells, 
having  a  certain  rare 
one  in  mind  which 
she  wished  to  pur- 
chase,—  a  little  mu- 
sica,  so  called  be- 
cause decorated  with 


CHRISTMAS  GREENS. 


49 


eyes  had  discovered  on  entering,  and  he  now  pro- 
ceeded to  place  before  her  a  trunk-tray  filled  with 
a  collection  brought  from  foreign  ports  by  an  old 
sailor,  and  pawned  by  his  wife  during  one  of  his 
long  voyages.  The  sight  of  these  made  Flossy  think 
of  Mr.  Wylde  Rose  and  his  stories  of  the  sea.  There 
was  no  musica  among  them.  When  Mr.  Aaronson 
popped  his  head  into  his  window  to  look  over  the 
objects  displayed  there,  Grandma  Tangleskein  made 
a  rapid  survey  of  the  contents  of  his  shop,  noting 
many  of  the  articles,  and  the  numbers  attached  to 
them.  This  call  deepened  the  impression  made  by 
Hilary,  and,  determined  upon  action,  that  very  after- 
noon Grandma  Tangleskein,  Mrs.  Rose,  and  a  few 
other  kindred  spirits  organized  a  Ladies'  Loan  Soci- 
ety, its  motto  being,  "  Whoso  giveth  to  the  poor, 
lendeth  to  the  Lord."  The  society  received  the  pawn- 
tickets from  their  holders,  redeemed  the  articles,  and 
then  made  out  new  tickets.  These  were  not  limited 
to  any  specified  time,  but  left  the  holders  free  to 
redeem  them  whenever  they  chose  or  were  able, 
without  the  dread  that,  meantime,  the  article  might 
be  sold  beyond  their  power  of  recovery.  When- 
ever it  was  preferred,  the  society  was  ready  to  pur- 


5° 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


chase  the  pawned  article  at  or  above  its  real  value. 
The  organization  grew  in  favor  among  the  patrons 
of  Mr.  Aaronson,  and  it  was  surprising  to  see  how  lit- 
tle money  was  expended,  how  quickly  it  was  returned, 
and  how  much  pleasure  was  given  and  real  good 
done.  Toward  Christmas  the  ladies  found  that  they 
had  a  considerably  larger  sum  contributed  than  had 
been  expended  in  the  work  ;  there  was  also  a  large 
stock  of  articles  in  their  possession  which  they  hard- 
ly knew  what  to  do  with.  They  decided  at  last  to 
have  a  Christmas  dinner  and  tree  at  Mrs.  O'Hol- 
logan's  rooms.  Hilary  had  all  along  been  the  chief 
business  agent  of  the  society,  and  she  now  acted  as 
detective,  reporting  the  families  and  individuals  that 
were  most  needy  and  worthy  of  assistance. 

On  Christmas  day  a  motley  assemblage  filled 
Mrs.  O'Hollogan's  bright  and  clean  rooms.  The 
bedstead  had  been  taken  down,  and  the  mangle  and 
washing-machine  handed  over  to  the  care  of  a  neigh- 
bor; a  long  table  formed  of  boards,  laid  upon  car- 
penter's tressles,  stretched  through  three  apartments, 
with  only  a  break  at  the  doorways,  the  doors  them- 
selves having  been  taken  off  their  hinges  to  afford 
freer  communication.    Mrs.  O'Hollogan  presided  at 


CHRISTMAS  GREENS. 


5* 


the  cook-stove,  dispensing  with  a  long-handled  dip- 
per the  oyster  soup,  which  sent  up  a  great  cloud  of 
appetizing  vapor  from  an  immense  and  shining  ket- 
tle. The  ladies  had  also  provided  sandwiches  and 
hot  coffee,  and  Hilary  carried  her  mother's  largest 
sized  clothes-basket  filled  with  doughnuts  of  Grandma 
Tangleskein's  own  make.  The  dinner  wras  served 
from  eleven  o'clock  until  four,  and  at  nine  in  the 
evening  the  same  company  met  in  the  same  place 
to  do  honor  to  the  Christmas  tree.  The  planks 
which  had  formed  the  tables  were  now  laid  upon 
wash-tubs  and  boxes,  and  served  as  benches.  The 
tree  itself  —  a  large  evergreen  sent  down  from  Wis- 
dom by  the  Venetians  —  stood  in  the  central  room, 
and  was  brilliantly  decorated.  The  company  filed 
around  it  for  a  good  look,  and  then  resumed  their 
seats.  A  Christmas  carol  was  sung,  a  prayer  of- 
fered, and  then  the  gifts  were  distributed.  Every 
one  who  had  articles  on  pawn  with  the  society  had 
them  returned,  and  some  things  even  which  had 
been  sold  found  their  way  mysteriously  back  again. 
It  was  a  general  day  of  jubilee.  The  sailor's  wife, 
who  was  a  sailor's  widow  now,  was  crying  over  her 
trunk-tray  of  shells,  though  they  had  been  purchased 


52 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


at  an  extravagant  price  by  a  collector  of  curiosities 
in  the  society.  One  old  French  lady  had  a  pair 
of  gold  ear-rings  returned  to  her  which  were  a 
wedding  present  to  her  mother  years  and  years  and 
years  ago ;  and  another  was  pinning  carefully  in  a 
napkin  some  precious  bits  of  point  lace  which  had 
been  handed  down  as  an  heirloom  through  several 
generations  of  her  family,  having  been  worn  only 
at  the  christening,  the  bridal,  or  some  other  grand 
occasion.  A  consumptive-looking  inventor,  who  had 
worked  himself  sick  over  a  complicated  bit  of  mech- 
anism, and  was  obliged  in  his  extremity  to  pawn 
the  model  just  as  he  had  completed  it  to  his  sat- 
isfaction, received  it  back  patented  at  the  cost  of 
the  society.  Here  was  an  old  man  turning  over 
the  leaves  of  his  great  family  Bible  to  assure  him- 
self, by  a  reference  to  his  own  birth,  that  it  was 
really  the  long-cherished  volume ;  and  there  a  sweet 
faced  sewing-girl  was  counting  the  dozen  silver  tea- 
spoons that  bore  her  mother's  monogram.  One  old 
lady,  who  had  pawned  her  parrot,  was  feeding  it 
from  a  contributed  box  of  sugar-plums,  while  the 
bird  was  going  into  hysterics  of  joy  at  meeting  its 
old  mistress  once  more.     Mr.  Puffindorf  was  em- 


CHRISTMAS  GREENS. 


53 


bracing  his  beloved  trombone,  from  which  he  had 
parted  on  an  occasion  of  mental  aberration  induced 
by  too  much  brandy  and  water.  The  loss  of  his 
instrument  had  occasioned  his  suspension  from  the 
orchestra  to  which  he 
belonged,  and  he  had  bit- 
terly repented  of  his  dis- 
sipation. A  temperance 
pledge  was  attached  to 
the  instrument,  and  he 
took  the  hint  and  it  im- 
mediately, Mrs.  O'Hollo- 
gan  offering  him  the  bit 
of  red  chalk,  with  which 
she  scored  up  her  wash- 
ing-lists, to  sign  his  name. 
Several  wedding  rings 
were  slipped  again  upon 
worn  fingers;  an  old-fashioned  clock  went  clown 
stairs  under  the  arm  of  a  Swiss  who  had  originally 
brought  it  with  him  from  over  seas.  There  were 
many  other  articles  returned,  and  with  them  were 
sometimes  found  substantial  presents,  or  small  gifts 
in  money.    One  work  of  art  was  rescued  from  the 


54 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


auctioneer:  a  portrait,  with  the  name  of  a  noted 
artist  in  the  corner.  This  was  returned  by  the  be- 
nevolent ladies,  any  one  of  whom  would  have  been 
glad  to  have  owned  it,  to  the  lonely  little  woman,  of 
whose  grandmother  it  was  a  likeness ;  the  picture 
had  always  seemed  like  company  to  her,  hanging 
over  her  bed,  and  she  had  never  felt  so  utterly  alone 
as  since  the  time  of  parting  with  it.  Hereafter,  the 
face,  which  resembled  her  own  in  the  youth  and 
freshness  depicted,  would  continue  to  look  down 
upon  her,  calling  to  mind  that  she  whom  it  por- 
trayed had  endured  trials  and  temptations,  but  over- 
coming them  all,  finally  went  down  to  her  grave  in 
a  green  old  age,  leaving  the  world  richer  for  her 
memory. 

So  the  evening  passed ;  on  leaving  each  received 
a  twig  of  holly  of  the  bright  green  color  which  sig- 
nifies hope  and  victory.  Over  the  poor  mantel-piece 
Flossy  noticed  that  there  hung  a  certificate  of  the 
burial,  in  Ireland,  of  Mrs.  O'Hollogan's  father.  Mrs. 
O'Hollogan  explained  it  to  her,  for  Flossy  could 
not  understand  the  language  in  which  it  was  writ- 
ten, but  she  saw  that  the  frame  was  made  of  a 
wreath  of  pressed  clover-leaves. 


CHRISTMAS  GREENS. 


55 


"  For  what  color  shud  be  seen 
Where  our  Feythers'  graves  have  been, 
But  our  own  immortal  grane?" 

said  Mrs.  O'Hollogan,  furtively  wiping  her  eyes  with 
the  corner  of  her  apron. 

A  large  stuffed  owl  which  had  been  purchased 
by  the  society,  and  whose  owner  had  gone  out  West, 
was  presented  to  Flos-  ^ 
sy.  It  was  fastened  that 
night  upon  a  great  branch 
of  holly,  above  the  mir- 
ror in  her  little  room. 
Flossy,  falling  to  sleep 
with  its  yellow  glass 
eyes  staring  down  upon 
her,  dreamed  that  the 
owl  in  the  holly-bush  was 
alive,  and  that  it  was 
visited  by  funny  hunch- 
backed little  elves,  such 
as  Hilary  had  said  ran 
at  night  lightly  over  the 
quaking  Irish  bogs,  carrying  candles,  which  they 
waved  about  to  perplex  travellers,  though  they  never 
did  any  harm,  for  they  were  only  mischievous,  not 


56 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


wicked.  One  of  these  will-o'-the-wisp  bogtrotters 
stood  before  the  owl  now,  with  his  candle,  and  talked 
about  Christmas  and  Christmas  Greens.  Then  the 
owl  told  him  what  he  had  seen  that  day  at  Mrs. 
O'Hollogan's ;  "and  it  was  all  through  that  little 
girl,"  said  the  owl.  Flossy  wondered  how  that  could 
be;  it  seemed  to  her  that  Hilary  had  had  much  more 
to  do  with  the  formation  of  the  society,  and  conse- 
quently with  the  Christmas  Tree  than  she ;  but  the 
owl  explained.  "  If  she  had  not  told  the  people  at 
Wisdom  about  the  Flower  Mission,  the  Mission 
would  have  had  no  white  clover,  Hilary  would  have 
had  no  shamrock,  Grandma  Tangleskein  would 
have  had  no  Hilary,  and  the  poor  people  who  pat- 
ronized the  pawnbroker's  shop  would  have  had  no 
Grandma  Tangleskein." 

"  Sure  enough,"  replied  the  elf ;  and  then  the  air 
seemed  full  of  the  little  beings  who,  joining  hands, 
hovered  in  a  circle  above  Flossy's  head,  repeating 
a  sort  of  blessing :  — 

"  Her  eyes  the  glowworm  lend  thee, 
The  shooting-star  attend  thee, 
And  the  elves  also, 
Whose  little  eyes  glow 
Like  the  stars  of  the  night,  defend  thee." 


ROSE  MADDER. 


ROSE  MADDER. 


THE  MAGICIAN. 


LOSSY  Tangleskein  had 
done  a  very  foolish  thing. 
She  visited  a  clairvoy- 
ant to  have  her  fortune 
told.  This  was  the  way 
it  came  about.  Mam- 
ma Tangleskein  had  lost 
her  diamond  ring.  She 
thought  a  great  deal 
of  it,  for  it  was  a  very 
elegant  one,  and  Papa 
Tangleskein  had  given 
it  to  her  long  ago,  when  they  were  young  and 
foolish.  She  lost  it  making  the  New-Year's  fruit- 
cake, and  the  ring  had  been  found  on  New-Year's 
Day,  when  Aunt  Toothaker  broke  one  of  her 
false  teeth  on  her  piece  of  cake,  and  was  very 


6o 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


nearly  choked  by  the  ring  itself.  But  Mamma  Tan- 
gleskein's  methodical  mind  had  just  reached  the 
fact  that  the  ring  was  lost,  and  had  not  yet  grasped 
that  of  its  having  been  found.  She  chanced  to  read 
Madame  Cheetiselli's  advertisement  in  the  morning 
paper  — 

"All  the  HIDDEN  THINGS  of 

THIS  WORLD  AND  THE  NEXT 

BROUGHT  TO  LIGHT  BY  THIS 

WONDERFUL  CLAIRVOYANT! 

She  foretells  the  future,  and  discloses  the  deepest  secrets 
of  the  past,  gives  the  clew  to  things  lost  and  stolen,  explains 
dreams,  cures  incurable  diseases,  tells  you  the  name  of  your 
future  husband  or  wife,  and  opens  communication  with  the 
spirit  world." 

When  Mamma  Tangleskein  saw  this  announce- 
ment, the  idea  that  Madame  Cheetiselli  might  pos- 
sibly be  able  to  tell  her  where  her  ring  was  imme- 
diately occurred  to  her,  and  she  paid  a  visit  to  that 
lady. 

"We  will  communicate  with  the  spirit  world," 
said  Madame  Cheetiselli.  Then  she  darkened  the 
room,  and  Mamma  Tangleskein  was  asked  to  place 
her  hands  on  those  of  the  medium's,  which  rested 
on  a  small  table.  Thereupon  Madame  Cheetiselli 
began  to  talk  in  a  sepulchral  tone.  "  You  have  lost 
a  valuable  object,"  said  she.  Mamma  Tangleskein 
had  already  told  her  that  she  had  done  so,  and  that 


THE  MAGICIAN. 


61 


the  object  was  a  ring.  "  It  has  been  hidden,"  con- 
tinued Madame  Cheetiselli,  "  buried,  in  fact ;  but  the 
individual  who  now  possesses  it  flaunts  it  fearlessly 
and  openly,  confident  that  she  will  escape  detection. 
I  can  assure  you  that  you  will  have  your  ring  again 
if  you  use  the  means." 

"  What  are  the  means  ?  "  asked  Mamma  Tangle, 
skein. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  now,"  replied  Madame  Cheeti- 
selli, "the  power  is  leaving  me;  you  must  come 
again." 

Mamma  Tangleskein  paid  her  two  dollars,  and 
went  away  very  much  impressed  by  the  informa- 
tion she  had  received.  She  pondered  it  over  while 
she  did  her  shopping,  and  was  so  much  engrossed 
by  a  contemplation  of  the  subject  that  she  was 
betrayed  into  more  than  her  usual  number  of  "  in- 
stances of  absence  of  mind."  On  entering  a  store 
she  laid  her  parasol  on  one  counter,  and  then  passed 
along  to  examine  some  goods ;  she  took  it  up 
again,  as  she  supposed,  on  leaving;  proceeding  slowly 
down  the  principal  street,  she  noticed  that  every 
one  seemed  more  than  usually  cheerful ;  she  was  at 
a   loss   to   account   for   it   until    an  acquaintance 


62 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


stopped  her,  and  between  paroxysms  of  unseemly 
laughter,  managed  to  ejaculate :  "  My  dear  Mrs. 
Tangleskein,  what  do  you  imagine  you  are  hold- 
ing over  your  head  ?  "  Mamma 
Tangleskein  was  truly  indignant ; 
she  regarded  fixedly  the  handle  of 
the  article  in  question,  and  replied : 
"  Why,  my  parasol,  of  course."  It 
struck  her,  however,  that  this  plainly 
painted  handle  was  not  like  the 
dainty  pearl-inlaid  one  that  sup- 
I  ffelgP  ported  her  own  lace  parasol,  she 
lowered  it,  and  discovered  to  her 
horror-stricken  gaze,  —  an  enormous  feather-duster ! 
Then  Mamma  Tangleskein  intended  to  take  the 
street-car  for  home,  but  in  her  abstraction  she 
stopped  one  going  in  just  the  opposite  direction  from 
that  which  she  wished  to  take.  When  it  was  in 
full  motion  she  realized  this,  and  exclaimed  excit- 
edly, "  But  I  am  not  going  on  this  car,  but  I  am 
not  going  on  this  car ! "  though  she  was  going 
on  it  all  the  time  as  fast  as  ever  she  could.  In 
spite  of  her  eccentricities  Mamma  Tangleskein  was 
one  of  the  dearest  of  women,  and  her  forgetfulness 


THE  MAGICIAN. 


63 


had  its  good  side,  for  she  could  never  remember 
anything  wrong  of  any  one.  When  Mamma  Tan- 
gleskein  at  last  reached  home  and  took  off  her 
gloves,  the  first  thing  she  saw  was  her  diamond 
ring.  She  told  the  whole  story  at  the  tea-table,  for 
it  seemed  very  funny  to  her.  Mamma  Tangleskein 
liked  to  have  other  people  laugh,  and  it  did  not 
much  matter  if  she  was  the  one  laughed  at. 

Flossy  listened,  and  told  Fluffy  Swansdowne  about 
it  at  school  the  next  day.  Fluffy  thought  it  would 
be  great  fun  to  call  on  Madame  Cheetiselli,  too. 

"  But  we  have  n't  lost  any  rings,"  said  Flossy. 

"  I  might  throw  mine  down  the  well,"  suggested 
Fluffy ;  "  the  one  with  a  blue  diamond  in  it,  that 
Uncle  Charlie  gave  me  ;  but  I  don't  think  it  would 
be  nice  either,  for  may  be  we  could  not  get  it  out 
again." 

"  We  might  have  our  fortunes  told,"  was  Flossy 's 
conclusion. 

"  So  we  might,"  assented  Fluffy ;  and  the  two 
girls  presented  themselves  after  school  in  the  clair- 
voyant's rooms. 

"  Let  us  communicate  with  the  spirit  world,"  said 
Madame  Cheetiselli.    Then  she  made  the  room  dark, 


64 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


and  the  two  girls  seated  themselves  at  the  little  table, 
one  on  each  side  of  her,  and  all  took  hold  of  hands. 
"  Now  you  may  each  make  a  wish,"  said  Madame 
Cheetiselli.  Flossy  wished  that  she  might  go  to 
Europe  some  day,  and  Fluffy  that  her  father  would 
buy  out  the  confectioner  on  the  corner,  and  let  her 
have  all  the  chocolate-creams  and  cocoanut-cakes  she 
wanted.  Then  Madame  Cheetiselli  said :  "  Listen 
to  those  strains  of  angelic  music";  the  girls  heard 

something  that  sounded  like 
a  music-box ;  first  it  played 
the  Lancers  very  slowly,  and 
then  "  I  have  a  Father  in 
the  Promised  Land,"  a  lit- 
tle more  briskly ;  after  that 
all  was  still,  and  Madame 
Cheetiselli  said,  "  The  se- 
ance is  at  an  end,"  arose  and 
rolled  up  the  window  cur- 
tains. The  girls  then  no- 
ticed on  the  table  before 
each  of  them  an  object 
which  was  not  there  when  they  sat  down.  "  A  gift 
from  the  spirit-land,"  said  Madame  Cheetiselli.  Fluf- 


THE  MAGICIAN. 


65 


fy's  "  gift "  was  a  tiny  carrier-pigeon  made  of  paper, 
bearing  in  its  bill  a  letter  tied  with  blue  ribbon. 
"  The  sign  signifies,"  said  the  Madame,  "  that  you 
will  soon  receive  a  very  important  letter."  Flossy 
had  a  great  red  paper  rose,  which  Madame  Cheeti- 
selli  explained  "  meant  that  her  path  through  life 
would  be  a  flowery  one."  Each  paid  her  seventy- 
five  cents,  which  Madame  said  was  the  price  for 
children,  and  they  went  down  stairs  together. 

"  I  wonder  how  she  knew,"  said  Fluffy,  "  about 
Ruby  Rose." 

"  I  don't  believe  my  flower  meant  him,"  exclaimed 
Flossy,  in  surprise. 

l'  Why,  of  course,"  insisted  Fluffy,  "  what  else 
could  it  mean  ?  " 

This  argument  seemed  unanswerable,  but  Flossy 
felt  more  ashamed  of  herself  than  ever,  and  she 
would  not  have  had  Ruby  know  of  the  adventure 
for  anything. 

One  thing  puzzled  her  still ;  if  the  spirits  did  not 
bring  these,  and  she  could  hardly  believe  that  they 
did,  how  came  that  rose  on  the  table  before  her? 
The  Saturday  after  this  occurrence  Tint  announced 
to  the  children  that  he  would  tell  them  a  story  which 


66 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


should  correspond  to  the  color  rose  madder.  Flossy 
blushed  violently.  "  I  wonder  if  Tint  knows  any- 
thing about  that  rose,"  she  thought  to  herself;  "  I 
am  sure  the  more  I  think  about  it  the  madder  and 
madder  I  get."  Tint's  story  did  not  seem  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  this  color  after  all,  and  he 
might  just  as  appropriately  have  called  it  Cerulean 
Blue  or  Emerald  Green. 

"  The  history  of  Art  in  France,"  said  Tint,  "  be- 
gins in  the  sixteenth  century,  with  the  reign  of  Fran- 
cis I.  This  monarch,  with  his  love  for  all  that  was 
gay  and  beautiful,  changed  the  appearance  of  the 
country  and  the  manners  of  the  people.  The  old 
castles,  hitherto  grim  fortresses,  were  transformed  into 
magnificent  hunting-lodges,  villas,  and  even  palaces. 
We  can  almost  say  that  landscape  gardening  was 
invented  by  him,  for  before  his  time  there  were 
hardly  any  gardens,  —  a  closely-trodden  court,  sur- 
rounded by  high  walls  and  ramparts,  affording 
scarcely  room  for  the  men-at-arms  to  exercise  in, 
was  considered  enough  for  any  castle ;  now  the  walls 
were  thrown  down ;  spacious  gardens  or  i  pleas- 
ances,'  adorned  with  statuary  and  fountains  stepped 
down  terraces  gay  with  roses,  to  the  magnificent 


THE  MAGICIAN. 


67 


parks.  The  architecture  of  the  buildings  themselves 
became  more  airy  and  graceful,  blossoming  into  or- 
nament wherever  ornament  was  possible.  Even 
the  furniture  partook  of 
the  general  change,  and 
became  more  luxurious  Ijpjpl 
and  elegant.  This  change 
was  called  the  Renais- 
sance, and  was  an  off- 
shoot of  the  great  Art 
revival  in  Italy,  where 
the  French  king  had 
spent  much  time,  attract-  J 
ed  as  much  by  the  desire 
to  bring  back  to  France  % 
the  beautiful  Art  crea- 
tions of  this  country,  as  by  the  love  of  military  glory. 
Not  only  did  he  obtain  there  many  valuable  paint- 
ings,—  the  foundation  of  the  magnificent  collection 
now  in  the  gallery  of  the  Louvre  in  Paris,  —  but  he 
tempted  away  a  number  of  Italian  artists  with  the 
design  of  founding  a  school  of  Art  in  France. 
Among  these  were  Cellini,  Primaticcio,  Andrea  del 
Sarto,  and  most   pre-eminent  of  all,  Leonardo  da 


68 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


Vinci.  To  this  painter  he  gave  the  chateau  of  Cloux, 
near  that  of  Amboise,  one  of  his  own  favorite  re- 
sorts. 

"  Now  let  us  play  that  we  are  back  in  the  sixteenth 
century,  and  that  the  court  is  at  Amboise,  a  castle 
whose  corner-stone  was  laid  by  Julius  Caesar  sixty 
years  before  Christ  was  born.  Francis  I.  used  to 
live  here  when  a  boy,  with  his  mother  and  his  sister 
Marguerite,  who  was  called  the  Pearl  of  Valois. 
He  has  since  built  more  magnificent  palaces,  but 
he  still  loves  the  long  and  beautiful  gallery  over- 
looking the  River  Loire ;  there  he  and  Marguerite 
have  romped  together;  still  loves  the  stately  rooms 
where  she  and  his  mother  read  to  him  from  the 
poets,  and  pointed  out  the  pictures .  embroidered  in 
the  rich  tapestry-hangings,  filling  his  soul  with  a 
love  for  poetry,  art,  and  knighthood.  The  chapel 
at  Amboise  is  considered  one  of  the  marvels  of 
Gothic  architecture,  and  Leonardo  da  Vinci  requested 
that  he  might  be  buried  here.  Francis  is  a  young 
man,  fond  not  only  of  art  and  poetry,  but  also  of 
manly  exercises  of  war  and  the  chase ;  the  chief 
amusement  of  the  Court  while  at  Amboise  is  hunt- 
ing in  the  extensive  forests  which  surround  it.  We 


THE  MAGICIAN. 


69 


will  watch  one  of  these  gay  parties  as  they  ride  from 
the  castle  gate.  It  is  the  age  of  luxury  and  extrava- 
gance in  dress,  and  even  here,  far  from  the  capital,  — 

'  Lords  and  ladies  of  the  high  court  go 

In  silver  tissue  talking  things  of  state  ; 
And  children  of  the  king  in  cloth  of  gold 
Glance  at  the  doors,  or  gambol  down  the  walks.' 

Look  at  the  gentlemen  with  their  broad-brimmed 
hats,  fringed  with  gold  and  looped  up  with  jewels; 
cloaks  embroidered  in  gold  and  silver  hang  jaunt- 
ily from  their  shoulders ;  their  satin  vests  sparkle 
with  '  rivieres '  or  necklaces  of  diamonds  or  emer- 
alds; richly  chased  swords  flash  beside  the  slashed 
hose,  and  their  laces  are  wonders  of  beauty  and 
price.  The  ladies,  of  course,  are  still  more  gor- 
geous, as  ladies  should  be.  Gayest  and  brightest 
of  all  is  Francis,  in  a  suit  of  rich  Genoa  velvet, 
rose  and  sky  blue,  a  Spanish  hat  is  on  his  head, 
turned  up,  with  a  white  plume  fastened  by  a  clasp 
of  rubies  and  a  golden  salamander.  He  is  a  haughty, 
distinguished-looking  man,  and  he  leads  the  hunting 
cavalcade  upon  a  magnificent  black  horse,  adorned 
with  housings  of  cloth  of  gold,  its  mane  plaited 
with  jewels.     Riding   near   him,   and  conspicuous 


70  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


over  all  the  rest  of  the  party,  are  three  beautiful 
ladies. 

4  The  first  is  dressed  in  rose-red  silk, 
The  second  in  velvet  green, 
The  third  in  satin,  as  white  as  milk;  — 
Would  their  souls  as  pure  had  been.' 

The  one  in  white  satin,  faced  with  ermine,  wearing 
the  long  ermine  mantle,  high  lace  ruff,  and  collearette 
of  pearls,  is  as  pure  as  she  looks ;  it  is  the  wife  6f 
Francis,  Queen  Claude,  with  white  serious  brow  and 
timid  air.  The  lady  in  rose-colored  silk,  profusely 
covered  in  the  Spanish  style  with  pointe  d'Alencon, 
is  Marguerite,  the  king's  sister,  and  the  lace  is  from 
her  husband's  province,  for  she  has  married  the  Duke 
d'Alencon.  The  little  lady  in  the  green  velvet  riding 
habit  buttoned  to  the  hem  with  emeralds,  who  rides 
nearest  to  the  king,  on  the  milk-white  palfrey,  is  his 
favorite,  Diane  de  Poitiers;  she  has  that  rare  com- 
bination of  dark  eyes  with  golden  hair,  which  gives 
their  owner  such  distinguished  and  piquant  beauty. 
But  Diane's  principal  attraction  is  not  her  beauty; 
she  is  very  intelligent,  witty,  and  accomplished.  She 
is  ambitious,  too,  and  the  other  court  ladies,  who 
envy  the  favor  which  she  enjoys,  say  that  she  is 


THE  MAGICIAN. 


71 


intriguing  and  heartless.  The  court  hunt  to-day  in 
the  beautiful  forest  of  Chenonceaux.  The  king's 
purveyor  has  provided  a  lunch  for  them  at  the  hunt- 
ing-lodge of  one  of  the  Barons,  built  upon  the  bank, 
and  extending  partly  across  the  river  Cher,  on  the 
foundation  of  a  mill.  The  site  is  so  charmingly  pic- 
turesque that  both  Francis  and  all  the  ladies  express 
themselves  delighted  with  it,  and  no  one  is  more 
profuse  in  her  admiration  than  Diane  de  Poitiers. 
'  Ah,  sire,'  she  exclaims,  1  what  a  palace  of  enchant- 
ment might  not  the  resources  of  a  king  create 
here.' 

" '  And  who  more  fitted  to  be  enchantress  of  the 
place  than  our  charming  Diane?'  replies  the  king. 
The  words  are* spoken  lightly,  but  many  mark  how 
keenly  the  little  lady  scans  the  castle,  visiting  it 
'  from  turret  to  foundation  stone,'  and  darting  out 
into  the  Cher  on  a  tiny  boat.  Diane's  new  fancy 
displeases  no  one  so  much  as  Triboulet,  the  court 
jester.  This  little  wizened  old  man,  who  rides  up- 
on a  piebald  horse,  whose  fool's  cap  and  bells  flap 
in  the  wind,  or  are  played  with  by  the  ape  which 
sits  behind  him,  carries  a  sounder  head  and  a  truer 
heart  than  many  a  courtier  of  more  dignified  appear- 


72 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


,  ance.  He  has  been  the  court  jester  of  the  former 
king,  Louis  XII.,  and  is  sincerely  attached  to  the 
interests  of  his  daughter,  Queen  Claude,  whose  mar- 
riage with  Francis  has  made  the  latter  king. 


" '  Palaces  are  for  queens,'  mutters  Triboulet,  to 
himself,  '  and  not  for  such  as  you,  Madame  Diane.' 
Then  he  busies  himself  with  thinking  how  he  can 
thwart  Madame  Diane's  ambitious  plans. 

"  The  next  day  Diane  de  Poitiers  is  to  sit  for  her 
portrait   to    Leonardo  da  Vinci.    Leonardo   is  re- 


THE  MAGICIAN. 


73 


spected  by  high  and  low  as  a  man  of  genius.  He 
is  from  Italy,  also ;  the  land  of  astrology  and  magic, 
of  chemistry,  subtle  poisons,  love-powders,  and  the 
evil  eye.  Even  the  most  cultivated  people  in  France 
at  this  time  believed  in  these  things.  Leonardo  has 
performed  some  very  simple  and  favorite  experiments 
in  physics  since  his  arrival,  and  is  looked  upon  as 
a  great  magician.  In  his  youth  Leonardo  had 
been  as  proficient  in  chemistry  and  mechanics  as 
in  painting;  later  in  life  he  felt  that  his  talent  was 
not  appreciated  in 
Italy ;  he  chanced 
to  attract  the  atten- 
tion of  Francis,  who 
had  conquered  a  part 
of  the  country,  and 
was  then  in  Italy,  by 
constructing  an  au- 
tomaton lion.  This, 
at  a  banquet,  pre- 
sented itself  to  the 
king,  and  opening  its 
breast  was  discovered  to  be  filled  with  bouquets 
of  lilies,  the  emblem  of  France.     The  ingenious 


74 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE, 


contrivance  seemed  to  typify  that  though  the  Italian 
people  had  met  him  in  the  guise  of  a  lion  they 
were  French  at  heart;  it  pleased  Francis,  who  had 
already  admired  Leonardo  as  an  artist,  and  he  car- 
ried him  back  to  France,  giving  him  a  salary  and 
the  little  chateau  of  Cloux  near  Amboise.  Tribou- 
let  determined  to  seek  an  interview  with  the  kind- 
hearted  Leonardo,  and  if  possible  persuade  him  to 
use  his  influence  over  Diane  de  Poitiers  to  induce 
her  to  give  up  her  plan  of  asking  the  king  *  for  the 
chateau  of  Chenonceaux. 

"  Diane  came  to  Leonardo  da  Vinci  on  the  day 
after  the  hunt  to  sit  for  her  portrait,  not  knowing 
that  Triboulet  had  been  there  before  her.  Leonardo 
agreed  with  Triboulet  that  such  a  mark  of  royal 
favor  as  the  gift  of  a  chateau  would  distress  the 
good  queen,  and  bring  nothing  but  unhappiness  to 
Diane  herself.  He  thought  with  Triboulet  that  it 
would  be  well  to  dissuade  Diane  from  her  under- 
taking, but  how  to  accomplish  it  ?  She  sat  before 
him,  beautiful,  fascinating,  with  an  expression  ex- 
quisitely sweet,  innocent,  and  —  no,  not  so  gay  as 
usual ;  she  was  silent  and  preoccupied,  like  himself. 
At  length  she  spoke : 4 — 


THE  MAGICIAN. 


75 


" '  Master  Leonardo,  is  it  true,  as  men  say,  that 
you  deal  with  magic  and  with  unknown  powers  ? ' 

" 1  All  that  magicians  have  done  I  can  do,'  re- 
plied Leonardo ;  '  I  am  versed  in  all  the  secrets  of 
alchemy  and  astrology.' 

" 1  Then,'  asked  Diane,  eagerly,  '  will  you  exercise 
those  secrets  in  my  behalf? ' 

" 4  Most  willingly,  fair  dame,'  replied  Leonardo. 
'  Write  whatsoever  question  or  request  you  please 
upon  this  paper,  which  you  may  then  burn  in  fire, 
and  on  your  next  coming  you  shall  receive  an  an- 
swer thereto.' 

"  Diane  wrote  upon  a  piece  of  paper  which  the 
great  artist  handed  her,  while  he  prepared  a  fire 
upon  a  strange-looking  tripod.  When  this  fire  was 
fully  kindled  she  dropped  the  paper  into  the  flames, 
and  watched  until  it  was  apparently  consumed;  after 
she  had  gone  the  learned  Leonardo  poured  some 
chemicals  upon  the  scorched  paper'  and  easily  read 
the  request  Diane  had  written,  —  which  was  1  Let 
the  first  portrait  I  see  when  next  I  come  be  that 
of  the  future  mistress  of  the  chateau  of  Chenon- 
ceaux.'  Leonardo  smiled ;  evidently  Diane  did  not 
half  believe  in  the  experiment  she  was  about  to 


76 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


try ;  the  first  portrait  which  she  was  likely  to  see 
on  entering  his  studio  would  be  her  own,  and  she 
hoped  in  this  way  to  obtain  a  confirmation  of,  or 
authority  for  her  ambitious  plans. 

"  When  Diane  came  again  the  aspect  of  the  stu- 
dio was  changed.  A  blank  canvas  stood  upon  the 
easel ;  this  she  could  just  discern  by  the  light  of  a 
flame  burning  upon  the  tripod,  for  the  room  was 
darkened.  Strange  uncanny  objects  peered  from 
the  gloom  :  the  retorts  and  instruments  of  an  alche- 
mist, skeletons,  snakes,  and  bats ;  Leonardo  him- 
self, in  his  magician's  robe  covered  with  cabalis- 
tic characters,  and  his  venerable  white  beard,  had 
all  the  appearance  of  a  wizard.  He  placed  a  chair 
for  her  in  front  of  the  canvas,  bade  her  look  at  it 
intently,  and  then  vanished.  Soon  was  heard  the 
sound  of  low  plaintive  music,  and  from  a  bright  spot 
which  suddenly  appeared  on  the  canvas  shone  the 
portrait  of  a  woman,  wonderfully  beautiful,  but  bear- 
ing no  resemblance  to  herself.  Diane  gazed  at  her 
until  the  vision  slowly  vanished,  then  she  cried 
impulsively,  '  tell  me  her  name,  or  at  least  show  me 
the  device  of  her  family.'  Leonardo,  who  stood 
behind  her,  had  thrown  the  picture  upon  the  can- 


THE  MAGICIAN. 


77 


vas  by  the  use  of  a  contrivance  of  his  own  similar 
to  a  magic-lantern,  which  was  not  invented  until 
a  later  period.  Leonardo  had  noticed  that  the  light 
falling  through  a  stained  glass  window  threw  the 
picture  painted  upon  it  on  the  floor.  Holding  a 
bit  of  painted  glass  before 
a  lamp  he  found  that  he 
could  throw  a  picture  on 
any  surface  he  chose,  and 
his  ingenious  mind  antici- 
pated the  invention  of  this 
pre-eminently  artistic  bit  of 
mechanism.  He  had  made 
an  apparatus  in  Florence  long 
before,  to.  amuse  some  mem- 
bers of  the  Medici  family,  and 
on  one  of  the  slides  painted 
the  escutcheon  of  this  noble 
family.  It  was  the  only  coat- 
of-arms  which  he  had  to  throw  upon  the  canvas,  and 
it  was  chance  that  made  him  do  so  now  in  answer 
to  the  question  put  him,  though  Diane  in  her  after 
life  had  cause  enough  to  hate  the  escutcheon  of 
the  Medici. 


78 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


"  This  little  drama  in  the  studio  was  not  without 
its  effect.  Diane  seemed  to  have  lost  all  liking  for 
the  chateau  of  Chenonceaux.  She  never  mentioned 
her  project  to  Francis,  though  she  could  not  quite 
bring  herself  to  abandon  it ;  and  long  afterward,  when 
Leonardo  da  Vinci,  the  Queen  Claude,  and  Francis 
were  all  in  their  tombs,  and  a  new  king  occupied 
the  throne  of  France,  she  obtained  this  darling  wish 
of  her  heart.  But  Leonardo's  prophecy  was  truer 
than  he  knew,  for  Diane  had  but  just  converted 
Chenonceaux  into  one  of  the  most  lovely  of  French 
chateaux,  when  the  new  queen,  Catherine  of  the 
house  of  Medici,  forced  Diane  to  surrender  to  her 
the  lovely  spot." 

u  Then  there  was  n't  any  real  magic  at  all  about 
it,"  said  Flossy,  thoughtfully,  as  Tint  ceased  speak- 
ing. 

"  There  is  no  such  thing  as  magic,"  replied  Tint ; 
"  what  appears  such  to  us  is  only  the  working  of 
natural  laws  which  we  do  not  understand,  or  the 
mere  chance  happening  of  two  events,  which  seem 
to  be  connected,  but  really  have  nothing  to  do  with 
each  other." 

"  And  Madame  Cheetiselli  must  have  been  a  hum- 


THE  MAGICIAN. 


79 


bug,  too,"  thought  Flossy ;  "  and  I  should  n't  won- 
der, —  I  should  n't  be  in  the  least  surprised  if  she 
did  n't  even  know  that  there  ever  was  a  boy  named 
Ruby  Rose." 


VENETIAN  RED. 


VENETIAN  RED. 

VENICE  GARDENS. 
(Flossy  s  Composition.) 


HERE  are  no  gardens  in  Venice, 
—  that  is,  there  are  no  real  ones; 
as  Grandma  Tangleskein  says, 
'  there  are  a  great  many  things 
outside  the  Bible  as  well  as  in  it 
that  are  not  to  be  taken  in  their 


literary  sense.'  And  since  Venice 
is  a  city  built  in  the  sea,  one 
might  suppose  that  the  Venetians 
have  red  herrings  instead  of  straw- 
berries, and  codfish  for  cabbages, 
and  sea-serpents  for  cucumber- 
pickles,  and  lobsters  for  water- 
melons, and  crabs  for  crab-apples, 
and  whales  for  pumpkins.  Though 
I  don't  believe  whale-pie  would  be  nearly  so  nice 
as  our  pumpkin-pie. 


84 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


"  But  this  is  not  the  kind  of  garden  I  meant. 
Tint  said,  when  he  told  me  about  Venetian  Red, 
'since  the  Venetians  could  not  have  flower-gar- 
dens like  other  people,  they  made  flower-gardens 
of  the   outsides   of  their   houses.'     I   don't  mean 

that  people  gen- 
erally have  their 
flower  -  gardens 
inside  their 
houses,  but  the 
Venetians,  who 
were  just  as  fond  of  flowers  and  bright  colors  as 
other  people,  painted  the  walls  of  their  houses  all 
over  with  beautiful  pictures  of  flowers  and  angels 
and  things.  These  pictures  were  painted  upon  plas- 
ter, and  they  called  them  frescos.  I  used  to  hear 
Cousin  Bob  talk  about  A I  fresco  breakfast-parties, 
and  I  thought  they  must  be  parties  where  the  peo- 
ple had  nothing  but  plaster  to  eat ;  but  I  know 
better  now.  It  means  breakfast  out-of-doors,  and  so 
perhaps  pictures  out-of-doors,  like  circus  advertise- 
ments. 

"  The  Venetian  artists  did  their  very  best  to  make 
these  gardens  beautiful  as  possible,  and  they  rivalled 


VENICE  GARDENS. 


85 


each  other  in  painting  lovely  and  brilliant  pictures. 
But  the  very  best  painter  of  all  was  Titian ;  no  one 
else  painted  such  beautiful  pictures,  and  no  one  else 
painted  so  many.  When  he  was  a  young  man  he 
lived  with  another  young  artist,  named  Giorgione. 
Giorgione  means  '  that  great  fellow  George ' ;  per- 
haps they  called  him  so  because  he  was  very  big 
and  strong.  Titian  and  he  painted  together  a  great 
deal,  sometimes  on  a  flower-garden  for  the  same 
house,  and  Giorgione's  pictures  were  like  fairy  sto- 
ries. But  he  did  not  paint  as  much  as  Titian,  for 
he  died  when  quite  young.  Then  there  was  one 
of  Titian's  pupils  who  made  the  walls  blossom  all 
over;  his  name  was  Tintoretto,  which  means  'the 
little  dyer,'  but  Titian  called  him  a  dauber ;  and 
there  was  one  more  who  liked  to  paint  pic- 
tures of  people  richly  dressed,  sitting  at  magnificent 
feasts,  surrounded  with  gold  and  silver  and  jewels ; 
his  name  was  Paul  Veronese.  Tint  told  me  all 
this,  and  a  great  deal  more.  He  said  that  if  we 
called  these  paintings  the  flower-gardens  of  Venice, 
then  the  pictures  of  Paul  Veronese  might  be  com- 
pared to  the  rich  vases  of  '  streaky  tulips,  gold,  and 
jet,'  that  Tintoretto's  were  sweet  and  dreamy  as  vio- 


86 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


lets,  Giorgione's  pure  as  lilies,  while  every  one  of 
Titian's  was  a  perfect  rose.  This  was  what  started 
the  '  orders '  in  our  secret  society.  Ruby's  father 
had  a  cup  full  of  Venetian  beads,  made  out  of  real 
Venice  glass ;  when  he  heard  of  our  society  he 
said  we  might  have  four  of  them,  to  be  strung  on 
ribbon,  as  decorations  or  prizes  to  be  given  by  our 
society.  The  beads  were  something  like  the  marbles 
on  Grandma  Tangleskein's  solitaire-board,  full  of  all 
sorts  of  colors,  only  much  handsomer.  We  took 
a  great  black  one  on  which  little  red  flowers  were 
painted,  fastened  it  to  an  orange-colored  ribbon,  and 
called  it  the  order  of  Veronese;  then  we  chose  a 
beautiful  blue  one,  that  changed  as  you  held  it  to 
the  light  to  green  or  purple,  and  made  it  the  cen- 
tre to  a  cross  of  violet  velvet ;  this  was  the  Tinto- 
retto order;  a  crystal  bead,  filled  with  wavy  lines 
of  red  and  green,  and  dashes  of  gold  leaf,  we  hung 
at  the  tip  of  a  broad  piece  of  white  satin  ribbon, 
and  called  it  the  Giorgione  decoration ;  but  the  grand 
prize  of  Venice,  the  most  honorable  of  all  —  the  order 
of  Titian  —  was  a  ruby  bead,  to  be  fastened  to  its 
wearer's  button-hole  by  a  cord  of  gold  thread  with 
two  tiny  tassels.    And  now  you .  will  say  that  while 


VENICE  GARDENS. 


87 


I  have  told  you  about  the  honors  we  conferred,  I 
have  n't  explained  what  they  were  given  for,  or  even 
told  the  name  of  our  society.  We  called  ourselves  the 
Venetian  Gardeners,  but  no  one  knew  our  full  name ; 
that  would  not  have  been  at  all  proper  for  a  secret 
society,  and  we  soon  found  that  the  Venetians  was 
as  much  as  we  could  manage  by  ourselves.  Our 
object  was  home  decoration,  and  we  took  the  name 
because  we  admired  the  old  Venetian  painters  so 
much  for  trying  to  place  flowers  where  no  real  ones 
could  grow.  They  changed  a  city,  which  might  very 
easily  have  been  the  most  dismally  damp  and  dole- 
ful in  existence,  to  one  which  all  travellers  describe 
as  an  enchanting  fairy-land.  We  determined  to  copy 
them  by  putting  something  pretty  or  bright  or  cheer- 
ful wherever  we  could  find  a  place  that  looked  par- 
ticularly desolate  or  ugly.  My  composition  is  al- 
ready so  long  that  I  can't  tell  you  exactly  what 
we  did,  only  it  was  a  perfect  success,  and  we  never 
would  have  done  anything  if  it  had  not  been  for 
Miss  Pinkey." 

This  was  Flossy  s  first  composition  after  her  re- 
turn from  a  summer  spent  in  the  country.  The 


88 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


Tangleskeins  had  gone  to  Wisdom.  It  was  not  a 
fashionable  resort,  being  neither  on  the  seashore  nor 
among  real  mountains ;  it  boasted  of  no  warm,  mud- 
dy, horribly  tasting  mineral  springs ;  the  waters  of 
all  its  brooks  and  wells  had  the  misfortune  to  be  de- 
liciously  cold,  sparkling,  and  sweet.  No  railroad  ran 
through  the  place,  and  it  was  not,  as  the  name  might 
suggest,  the  seat  of  a  college  or  great  university  of 
learning.  The  situation  was  picturesque,  in  a  very 
narrow  valley,  between  two  high  ridges  of  blue 
slaty  hills,  which  opened  and  gave  a  glimpse  of  still 
higher  ones  that  had  all  the  effect  of  mountains. 
Wisdom  very  narrowly  escaped  being  as  pretty  a 


under  broad  shade-hats,  they 
preferred  white  frame  ones,  exactly  alike,  with  the 
same  number  of  green  blinds,  and  a  bird-house  of 


village  as  any  in  Switzerland ; 
and  only  escaped  because  the 
inhabitants  had  not  the  sense 


^  of    beauty    which    the  Swiss 
have  ;  instead  of  building  pret- 
ty    cottages    with  projecting 
^    roofs,  like  rustic  beauties  hid- 
>      ing  away  their  browned  faces 


VENICE  GARDENS. 


89 


the  same  pattern,  on  a  pole  in  the  front  yard ;  for 
everybody  in  Wisdom  made  it  a  point  of  honor 
to  do  exactly  as  everybody  else,  and  everybody 
was  so  unfortunately  well  off  they  were  quite  able 
to  buy  a  bird-house  just  like  their  neighbors.  And 
yet  in  spite  of  the  bird-houses  and  the  green  blinds 
without  and  the  Venetian  ones  within  (the  only  arti- 
cle in  the  village  bearing  the  name  Venetian,  and 
seemingly  so  called  because  its  like  was  never  seen 
in  Venice),  the  little  town  still  verified  the  Bible 
assertion,  "  Wisdom's  ways  were  pleasantness,  and 
all  her  paths  were  peace."  Perhaps  one  reason 
for  the  name  of  the  town  was  this ;  a  seminary  for 
young  ladies  had  been  located  here  in 
former  times,  but  in  spite  of  an  ample 
endowment  the  institution  of  learning 
languished,  and  was  sadly  in  need  of 
repair.  There  was  a  circulating  library 
in  the  village,  also  endowed,  as  was 
nearly  every  other  association  here. 
The  two  churches  were  groaning  under 
legacies  of  deceased  members.  The 
little  Methodist  chapel  had  a  farm  connected  with 
its  pleasant  parsonage;  few  of  the  church  members 


go 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


owned  a  larger  one,  and  they  came  gradually  to  think 
that  this  was  quite  enough  for  the  minister,  and 
"  if  he  was  any  sort  of  a  man  he  could  make  his 
living  off  it."  Renting  the  pews  in  the  church  was 
not  to  be  thought  of,  for  it  was  the  opinion  of  the 
whole  congregation  that  "  the  house  of  God  should 
be  free  to  all " ;  beyond  a  yearly  donation-party 
nothing  could  be  got  out  of  their  pockets.  At  the 
Unitarian  church,  too,  all  energy  and  action  were 
smothered    in    the    members   by    an  endowment; 

the  pews  had  been  bought  by  the  grand- 
fathers of  the  present  occupants,  who  closed 
the  doors  with  a  bang  of  conscious  proprie- 
torship before  settling  themselves  to  their 
Sunday  morning  nap.    Somebody  in  the  dim 
past  had  left  to  the  church  property  yield- 
ing: an  income  of  three  hundred  dollars,  and 
the  minister's  salary  was  supposed   to  be 
made  up  to  "  something  handsome  "  by  "  vol- 
untary contribution." 
If  the  dead  and  gone  people  of  Wisdom  had  done 
less,  perhaps  the  present   inhabitants  would  have 
done  more ;  as  it  was,  nobody  went  to  hear  a  lec- 
ture for  which  there  was  anything  to  pay,  because 


VENICE  GARDENS. 


91 


during  the  winter  there  was  a  course  of  six  free 
lectures ;  and  hardly  any  one  attended  the  free  lec- 
tures, because  they  "  could  n't  be  worth  much  if 
they  did  n't  cost  anything." 


It  was  to  this  village  the  Tangleskeins  came  to 
pass  a  summer.  In  a  search  for  fringed  gentians 
on  the  hills,  Flossy  came  across  a  little  lady  perched 
upon  a  great  gray  rock  with  a  sketch-box  upon  her 


92  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


lap,  in  which  she  was  making  a  very  pretty  water- 
color  of  a  group  of  columbine.  It  was  Miss  Pinkey, 
the  drawing-teacher  at  the  seminary,  who  was  too 
poor  to  go  away  to  pass  the  summer  vacation  with 
friends ;  though  that  was  no  hardship,  she  would 
say,  for  she  had  no  friends  to  visit,  and  so  spent 
her  vacations  at  the  seminary.  She  had  a  class  in 
flower-painting,  too,  the  members  of  which,  being 
nearly  all  residents  of  Wisdom,  kept  up  their  studies 
during  the  summer.  To  this  class  Flossy  attached 
herself,  and  it  was  while  sketching  out  of  doors 
during  the  early  part  of  the  summer,  that  the 
society  of  Venetians  originated.  There  had  been 
a  Missionary  Society  in  the  village,  one  of  the 
girls  said,  which  Mrs.  Pilgrim,  the  Methodist  min- 
ister's wife,  started;  they  held  an  annual  fair,  and 
the  good  lady,  who  had  a  decided  talent  in  that 
direction,  instructed  the  girls  in  embroidery.  They 
made  a  great  many  very  pretty  articles,  and  en- 
joyed meeting  once  a  week  to  work  and  chat,  but 
some  way  they  lost  their  interest  in  the  object  of 
the  society ;  besides,  a  dancing-school  happened  to  be 
organized  on  its  regular  day  of  meeting,  and  so 
it  came  to  grief.    The  dancing  lessons  were  over 


VENICE  GARDENS. 


93 


now,  but  the  eld  society  did  not  seem  to  have 
enough  vitality  left  in  it  to  begin  anew,  and  yet 
the  girls  wished  for  something  of  the  kind.  Miss 
Pinkey  suggested  a  "  Beauty  Mission "  for  home 
instead  of  foreign  work,  the  aim,  to  make  home 
as  attractive  as  possible.  Painting  should  be  only 
one  of  the  departments, 
and  she  promised  to  call 
on  Mrs.  Pilgrim,  and  in- 
duce her,  if  possible,  to 
take  the  "  chair  of  Em- 
broidery." "  It  will  never 
do,  however,  to  enlist  the 
Methodist  element  with- 
out also  inviting  the  Uni- 
tarians to  take  a  promi- 
nent part;  an  enterprise 
of  this  kind  will  go  to 
pieces,"  said  Miss  Pinkey, 
"  if  it  is  sectarian." 

"  But  Mrs.  Stockstill  is 
not  in  the  least  artistic," 
said  all  the  girls ;   "  she  is  entirely  wrapped  up  in 
her  housekeeping  and  her  flowers." 


94 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


"Then  she  will  be  a  very  valuable  member,"  said 
Miss  Pinkey,  "  for  flowers  are  our  special  admira- 
tion ;  no  matter  how  many  copies  we  have  of 
them  we  cannot  spare  the  sweet  originals.  She 
ought  to  be  our  president,  and  as  to  her  other  spe- 
cial fondness,  of  what  use  will  it  be  for  us  to  learn 
house  decoration,  if  we  do  not  also  learn  how  to 
keep  our  houses  beautiful  ?  " 

The  society  arranged  to  meet  in  turn  at  Miss 
Pinkey's,  Mrs.  Pilgrim's,  and  Mrs.  Stockstill's.  The 
beads  of  Venice  glass  were  presented  to  it  in  its 
early  days,  and  made  into  decorations  which  were 
to  be  given  the  following  summer,  just  one  year  • 
from  the  formation  of  the  society,  to  the  members 
who  should  achieve  the  greatest  triumphs  in  the 
way  of  beautifying  unlovely  things.  And  really  they 
did  accomplish  wonders. 

They  began  with  the  two  Sunday  schools.  Miss 
Pinkey  designed  a  quantity  of  illuminations  in  old 
English  and  German  text;  these  the  class  executed. 
They  were  at  first  arranged  to  hang  upon  the  wall 
like  pictures,  only  remaining  during  the  exercises 
of  the  Sunday  school.  But  the  grown  people  had 
enough  good  sense  to  admire  them  as  much  as 


VENICE  GARDENS. 


95 


the  children,  and  they  insisted  on  their  being 
left  during  their  part  of  the  service.  Then  Miss 
Pinkey  and  her  class  mounted  step-ladders  and  ac- 
complished something  in  the  way  of  fresco.  The 
time-stained  walls  of  the  two  churches  were  bright- 
ened by  a  band  of  texts,  running  around  the  room 

1  Got  is  \m  II 


just  beneath  the  cornice,  and  separated  from  each 
other  by  arabesques.  This  made  the  other  parts  of 
the  house  look  shabby,  so  the  class  undertook  the 
entire  renovation  of  the  interiors  of  both  churches, 
and  accomplished  it  with  more  of  satisfaction  to  the 
respective  congregations  than  if  a  professional  hand 
had  undertaken  the  work.  They  refused  any  pay 
for  their  services  beyond  the  price  of  material ;  "  the 
fun  of  the  thing,"  and  the  furore  they  were  creat- 
ing was  recompense  enough.  Before  it  came  to 
this,  however,  they  had  reconstructed  the  school- 
house  and  the  library,  which  was  popularly  called 
a  reading-room.    Nobody  ever  came  here  to  read, 


96 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


for  it  was  a  very  dreary  and  uninviting  place  until 
the  Venetians  attacked  it.  All  along  the  unpainted 
edges  of  the  rough  pine  boards  which  formed  the 
shelves,  the  girls  fastened,  by  means  of  brass-headed 
tacks,  a  narrow  edging  of  red  morocco  pinked  by 
Mrs.  Pilgrim.  The  curtains  were  of  a  woollen  ma- 
terial, which  would  have  fallen  in  soft,  graceful 
folds  had  they  been  properly  hung,  but  they  were 
a  dull  ugly  gray  in  color,  and  the  way  in  which 
they  were  put  up  helped  their  resemblance  to 
army  blankets.  Mrs.  Stockstill  experimented  in 
dyes ;  as  one  result  of  her  chemical  studies  she 
appeared  for  several  weeks  afterward  in  Lisle- 
thread  gloves  which  were  not  taken  off,  even  at 
meal-time ;  the  gloves  disguised  the  fact  that  her 
plump  little  hands  were  stained  with  shades  of 
red  and  green,  while  her  nails  were  as  yellow  as 
those  of  any  henna-loving  Egyptian  beauty ;  another 
result  was  it  was  ascertained  that  the  stuff  of  which 
the  curtains  were  made  would  take  maroon  better 
than  any  other  color.  More  was  purchased,  the 
curtains  were  dyed,  and  under  Mrs.  Pilgrim's  di- 
rection the  deft  fingers  of  the  class  embroidered 
long  stripes  of  worsted  work  which  were  fastened 


VENICE  GARDENS. 


97 


upon  them  in  applique  in  two  long  bands  near 
the  top  and  bottom.  They  were  then  attached  to 
large  wooden  rings  through  which  ran  a  rod ; 
when  fastened 
in  place  over  the 
windows  and  as 
a  portiere  across 
the  doorway, 
they  at  once  J 
gave  the  room 
an  air  of  ele- 
gance entirely 
this  was  not  all, 
tees  had  placed 
money  in  the 
thusiastic  Vene- 
could  not  stop  here. 

The  chief  business  man  of  the  community,  Mr. 
Philander  McCash,  owned  a  quarry  and  factory  on 
the  other  side  of  the  hills  near  the  railroad,  for  the 
cutting  of  slate  into  salable  shapes ;  he  designed 
adding  to  this  line  of  business  that  of  a  manufactory 
for  making  it  up  into  various  articles  of  ornament 
and  furniture.    Miss  Pinkey  had  procured  a  quan- 


a  sman  sum  01 
hands  of  the  en- 
tians,    and  they 


98 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


tity  of  small  squares  of  slate,  and  painted  them  in 
patterns  suitable  for  tile  decoration.  These  were 
marbleized  or  glazed  at  a  mantel-factory  in  a  neigh- 
boring village,  and  they  were  so  pretty  that  she  at- 
tempted more  work  of  the  same  kind ;  table-tops 
ornamented  in  mosaic  patterns,  flower-stands,  boxes, 
shawl-pins,  and  even  clock-cases.     She  was  fortu- 


nately  discovered  by  an 
agent  for  a  city  house, 
who  engaged  all  the  ar- 
ticles of  the  kind  which 
she  could  make,  at  what 
seemed  to  the  little  lady 
very  liberal  prices,  but 
which  left  a  large  margin 


for  profit  to  her  employ- 
ers. She  instructed  her  pupils  in  the  decoration  of 
slate-tiles,  and  many  a  pretty  floral  design  was  thrown 
that  summer  upon  tablets  commonly  employed  for 
torturing  young  minds  in  the  exercise  of  arithmetic. 


VENICE  GARDENS. 


99 


They  had  never  attempted  anything  very  ambitious, 
but  the  chimney-piece  in  the  library-room  was  "  too 
horrid  for  anything."  Mrs.  Pilgrim  designed  a  lam- 
brequin for  the  top,  and  Miss  Pinkey  had  a  border- 
ing of  tiles  arranged  in  a  wooden  frame,  which  the 
girls  decorated.  These  were  the  public  works  en- 
gaged in  by  the  whole  society ;  but  each  individual 
Venetian  enlisted  in  some  private  enterprise  of  her 
own ;  it  may  be  that  the  thought  of  the  medals  in 
the  distribution  of  the  society  had  a  stimulating 
effect,  such  is  the  powerful  influence  which  the  vain- 
glory of  honors  and  distinctions  has  over  the  human 
mind ;  but  a  glass  bead  and  a  ribbon  could  not  have 
been  the  only  motive  with  these  young  souls. 

There  was  Miss  Patience  Wayte,  who  had  lain 
upon  her  bed  for  twenty  years  a  paralytic,  unable 
to  move  her  head  from  side  to  side,  staring  all 
the  time  up  at  the  ceiling;  such  an  uninterest- 
ing ceiling,  too,  with  only  ugly  cracks  and  stains 
to  diversify  the  surface.  It  bore,  for  an  imagina- 
tive mind,  a  remote  resemblance  to  a  yellow  old 
map  of  some  undiscovered  country.  To  be  sure 
there  was  a  very  small  slanting  skylight,  but  this 
had  been  so  patched  with  paper  and  festooned  with 


IOO  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 

cobwebs  that  very  little  light  struggled  through,  and 
allowed  no  glimpse  of  the  blue  beyond.  This  was 
a  grand  chance  for  Flossy.  She  obtained  Miss 
Wayte's  permission  to  whitewash  the  ceiling,  then 
she  sent  its  dimensions  to  Mr.  Rose,  who  bought  a 
quantity  of  coarse  cotton  cloth,  and  drew  a  pattern 
upon  it  for  Flossy  to  fill  out  in  color.  Just  over 
Miss  Wayte's  bed  a  trellis  or  vine-arbor  was  repre- 
sented, through  which  dropped  clusters  of  grapes, 
their  broad  rich  leaves  making  a  roof  overhead. 
The  rest  of  the  ceiling  was  painted  a  steely  blue, 
giving  a  feeling  of  air  and  space,  crossed  by  long 

irregular  lines  of  birds,  making  one  think  of  Tenny- 
son's "  swallows  flying,  flying  South."  The  broken 
skylight  was  replaced  by  whole  panes,  over  which 
was  spread  a  sheet  of  gelatinized  paper,  a  copy  of 
some  old  church  window,  and  an  excellent  imita- 
tion of  stained  glass.  After  Miss  Wayte  was 
brought  back  to  her  room  she  lay  for  a  while  with 


VENICE  GARDENS. 


IOI 


closed  eyes,  but  when  she  opened  them  the  expres- 
sion on  her  face  was  as  though  she  had  seen  a  vis- 
ion of  angels.  It  was  a  very  kind  thing  to  think 
of,  and  the  pleasant  thought  was  charmingly  carried 
out,  yet  it  only 
gained  Flossy  the 
Giorgione  decora- 
tion ;  the  grand 
prize  of  Venice, 
the  order  of  Ti- 
tian, was  given 
for  a  still  more 
beautiful  deed. 
The  Tintoretto 
and  Veronese 
medals  were 
awarded  to  two 
girls  who,  under 
the  leadership  of  Mrs.  Stockstill  and  with  the  help 
of  Mrs.  Stockstill's  flowers,  which  she  gave  liberally, 
effected  a  great  change  in  the  neglected  cemetery. 
In  the  first  place  the  little  comrnittee  set  out  flow- 
ers on  the  graves  of  those  who  had  no  friends  in 
the  community  to  care  for  them ;  .then  they  gave 


102 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


roots  and  seeds  to  those  who  had  loving,  mourning 
hearts  and  willing  hands,  but  were  too  poor  to  show 
their  remembrance  of  the  lost  in  this  way.  The 
wealthier  lot-owners  were  stimulated  by  this  to  some 
exertion  of  their  own ;  a  fountain  was  purchased  and 
placed  in  the  little  enclosure,  and  other  improve- 
ments gradually  showed  themselves.  Grown  people 
were  stirred  up  to  the  feeling  that  a  little  band  of 
young  girls  were  outstripping  them,  and  they  joined 
with  good-natured  rivalry  in  public  enterprise.  Many 
asked  permission  to  join  the  Venetians,  and  to  a  few 
this  favor  was  accorded ;  one  of  the  new  candidates 
for  admission  was  a  city  lady,  a  summer-boarder  in 
Wisdom.  She  taught  the  girls  the  art  of  making 
netted  guipure,  and  interested  them  in  lace  gener- 
ally. Under  her  direction  a  beautiful  set  of  curtains 
was  made  of  common  unbleached  cotton,  bordered 
with  guipure  insertion  and  lace,  and  this  set  the 
girls  hung  up  with  great  glee  in  Miss  Pinkey's  room 
on  her  birthday.  There  were  too  many  for  her  win- 
dows, so  the  city  lady  arranged  a  very  pretty  can- 
opy for  the  bed,  from  which  the  curtains  drifted 
gracefully  down.  They  found  one  other  lace  con- 
noisseur, an  old  English  lady,  who  made  pillow-lace, 


VENICE  GARDENS. 


103 


collars,  and  cuffs  that  were 
She  was  immediately  made 
body.  The  girls  paid  her  for 
instructing  them,  and  the  city 
lady  bought  all  the  work  which 
she  had  made  during  the  past 
winter. 

Another  work  of  merit  was 
performed  by  one  of  the  mem- 
bers,  who   supplied  herself 


really  very  beautiful, 
a    member  of  their 


ferent  places  for  them,  —  one 
other  on  the  ridgepole  of  the 
den  among  the  blossoms  of  a 
Clara  Helps  had  an  uncle 


with  a  "  jig-saw,"  and 
instructed  a  class  of 
small  boys  in  wood- 
carving.  This  move- 
ment resulted  in  the 
utter  rout  of  the  bird- 
houses  on  the  poles ; 
newer   and  prettier 
ones  were  made,  and 
the  boys  found  dif- 
in  the  cherry-tree,  an- 
barn,  and  another  hid- 
syringa. 

in  a  tea  store  in  the 


104  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


city,  who  sent  her  a  roll  of  Chinese  pictures, 
and  some  very  pretty,  but  broken  tea-boxes.  With 
the  pictures  Clara  determined  to  make  a  folding 
screen  to  keep  the  draughts  away  from  her  grand- 
mother's bed;  but  the  woodwork  of  the  screen  was 
more  than  she  could  manage,  so  she  went  down 
to  see  if  the  Crowdy  boys  could  help  her.  Mrs. 
Crowdy  was  a  poor  woman   with  a  large  family. 


them,  and  they  slunk  through  the  village  streets  in 
a  hang-dog  way,  knowing  that  they  were  watched, 
and  that  people  were  talking  about  them.  Robert, 
the  wrong-doer,  had  just  finished  his  term  of  con- 


One  of  the  boys  had 
turned  out  badly;  he 
robbed  the  mail-bags 
as  they  lay  one  night 
in  the  depot  waiting 
for  the  midnight  train, 
was  discovered  and 
sent  to  prison.  No 
harm  was  known  of  the 
other  children,  but  the 
crime  of  their  brother 
threw  suspicion  upon 


VENICE  GARDENS. 


finement  in  prison ;  he  could  get  work  nowhere, 
and  stalked  defiantly  about  the  town,  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  regarding  every  one  with  an  insult- 
ing stare,  which  was  infinitely  more  pitiable  than 
the  shamefacedness  of  his  innocent  brothers.  When 
Clara  Helps  asked  if  any  of  the  boys  could  do  the 
carpenter  work  for  her 
screen,  Mrs.  Crowdy  shook 
her  head ;  "  No  one  un- 
less Robert ;  he  mended 
the  pigpen  quite  beauti- 
ful ;  they  kept  him  at  car- 
penter work  over  there." 
At  the  mention  of  "  over 
there,"  Clara  blushed,  for 
Rob.  Crowdy  was  leaning  against  the  side  of  the 
house  with  his  thumb  thrust  into  the  bowl  of 
his  clay  pipe,  which  he  had  just  extinguished 
"out  of  respect  to  the  young  lady."  He  saw 
the  blush  at  the  reference  to  the'  prison,  and  an 
answering  one  flamed  on  his  dark  cheek,  the 
first  signal  of  returning  self-respect  which  he  had 
exhibited.  "  I  '11  try  my  hand  at  it,"  he  said,  and 
a  very  workmanlike  piece  of  furniture  it  was  when 


I06  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


completed.  He  took  the  broken  pieces  of  tea-boxes, 
with  some  pictures  of  foreign  cabinets  and  book- 
cases to  give  him  an  idea,  and  returned  them  changed 
into  a  little  cabinet  for  curiosities.  The  frame- 
work consisted  of  four  long  bamboo  rods,  the  back 
of  a  long  strip  of  looking-glass  cut  from  a  broken 
mirror,  reflecting  with  good  effect  the  objects 
placed  upon  the  shelves.  Mr.  McCash,  the  owner 
of  the  slate-quarries  and  factory,  saw  the  screen  and 
cabinet,  and  remarked  that  they  showed  extraordi- 
nary taste  and  skill.  Clara  interested  him  in  her 
protege ;  the  result  was  that  Mr.  McCash  took 
Robert  Crowdy  into  his  employ,  not  as  an  under- 
ling, but  as  foreman  in  the  new  establishment  for 
combining  slate  with  artistic  furniture ;  in  this  di- 
rection Miss  Pinkey's  slate  ornamentation  was  after- 
ward turned,  with  more  profit  to  herself  than  the 
old  work  for  the  agent  had  ever  brought.  Very 
beautiful  are  the  panelled  desks,  sideboards,  etageres, 
cabinets,  etc.,  which  foreman  Crowdy  will  now  show 
you  (should  you  ever  visit  the  works),  decorated  with 
Miss  Pinkey's  tiles,  and  adapted  by  him,  from  seri- 
ous studies  of  furniture,  in  the  styles  of  the  Cinque 
Cento,  the  Renaissance,  and  others.    Suddenly,  too, 


VENICE  GARDENS. 


107 


all  the  Crowdy  boys  discovered  that  they  had  spines 
in  their  backs  and  necks  capable  of  holding  their 
heads  as  high  as  those  of  any  of  the  boys  in  the 
village;  Rob  lost  all  his  bravado,  and  applied  him- 
self to  work  in  a  modest  and  industrious  way  that 
plainly  showed  he  remembered  the  past  and  was  try- 
ing to  make  amends. 

And  for  this  act,  the  saving  of  a  desperate  soul 
from  ruin,  the  Committee  on  Awards  for  the  Vene- 
tians gave  the  grand  prize  of  Venice,  the  order  of 
Titian,  to  Clara  Helps. 


* 


VERMILION. 


WAR  PAINT. 


T  was  Ruby's  birthday, 
and  Papa  Rose  had  giv- 
en up  the  studio  to  the 
children  for  a  grand 
birthday  party.  Mrs. 
Rose  invited  all  of  Ru- 
by's friends,  for  the 
most  part  boys,  though 
there  were  a  few  girls, 
and  among  them,  of  course, 
Flossy  Tangleskein. 

It  was  a  day  of  unre- 
strained romp  and  frolic. 
Mr.  Rose  had  put  the  more 
fragile  of  his  treasures  un- 
der lock  and  key,  and  the 
children  took  this  as  tacit  permission  to  make  free 
with  whatever  was  left.     The  favorite  game  was 


112 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


Big  Injin.  Half  of  the  party  represented  Custer 
and  his  men,  and  half  with  rich  costumes  fantas- 
tically draped  about  them,  their  faces  daubed  with 
paint  from  the  palette,  were  the  Indians.  Ruby 
was  chief;  he  had  tied  his  mother's  false  curls  on 
his  toy  gun  to  represent  scalps,  and  had  fenced  a 
number  of  plaster-casts,  which  he  called  his  pale- 
faced  prisoners,  into  a  'corner  with  chairs.  Flossy, 
who  had  seen  Rosedale,  was  frequently  heard  sing- 
ing in  a  shrill  voice, — 

"  The  Indian  sung 
In  his  native  tongue, 
Kerchujulum,  chujulum,  chu  ju  lum  jum 
Luddy  fuddy  hi  o  uddy  i  o ! " 

A  chorus  which  was  received  on  each  repetition  as 
a  grand  linguistic  triumph.  They  were  having  what 
Ruby  denominated  as  "  a  regular  high  old  time  " ;  but 
even  such  elevated  happiness  cannot  be  enjoyed  for- 
ever. They  grew  tired  after  a  while ;  then  the  refresh- 
ments were  passed  around,  and  after  these  were  dis- 
posed of  they  all  felt  in  the  mood  for  quieter  fun. 

"  Supposing  we  call  the  Bo — "  began  Ruby,  who 
then  stopped  suddenly,  remembering  the  vow  of 
eternal  secrecy,  and  looked  inquiringly  at  Flossy. 


WAR  PAINT. 


"  Let 's,"  was  Flossy's  brief  reply  to  his  question- 
ing look;  but  before  they  had  time  to  make  the 
experiment  Uncle  Wylde  Rose  stepped  into  the 
room,  and  seating  himself  upon  the  model-stand 
lifted  two  of  the  younger  children  to  his  knee  with 
the  question,  "  How  would  you  like  to  have  me  tell 
you  a  story." 

"Ever  so  much,"  was  echoed  upon  all  sides,  and 
Uncle  Wylde  began.  Ruby  first  stipulated  that 
there  should  be  lots  of  fighting  and  hidden  treasure 
and  blood  in  it. 

"  OfT  the  shores  of  Maine,  not  far  from  the  place 
where  I  was  born,  towers  a  rocky  island,  called 
Mount  Desert.  On  one  of  its  bare  cliffs  there  is 
a  long,  irregular  scarlet  stain ;  the  snows  and  storms 
of  a  hundred  winters  have  not  been  able  to  wash  it 
out,  and  there  are  many  legends  as  to  its  origin. 
Some  maintain  that  it  is  a  stain  of  blood,  marking 
the  spot  of  some  dreadful  murder:  — 

*  Of  lonely  folk  cut  off  unseen, 
And  hid  in  sudden  graves ; 
Of  horrid  stabs  in  groves  forlorn 
And  murders  done  in  caves. 

For  blood  has  left  upon  the  rock 
Its  everlasting  stain.' 


ii4 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


"  There  are  matter-of-fact  geologists  who  say 
that  the  stain  is  caused  by  iron  in  the  rock ;  but 
I  reject  both  the  scientific  and  the  horrible  ex- 
planations, and  prefer  to  believe  another  tradi- 
tion. 

"  Many  years  ago  the  castle  of  Castine  crowned 
one  of  the  peaks  of  the  Pyrenees.    From  its  high- 
est tower  you  looked  north- 
ward far  away  over  the  land 
1  ""V  o  f  c  1  a  r  e  t 


fair,  sunny 
France ;  and 
southward 
to  other 

vineyards  and  olive-groves  in  sunnier  Spain.  Toward 
the  east  the  mountains  rose  in  higher  and  higher 
peaks,  and  in  the  west  there  was  a  line  of  blue,  which 
meant  the  sea.  Here  lived  the  old  Baron  Castine, 
and  with  him  his  niece  Isabel.  The  baron's  chief 
employment  was  hunting  bears  in  the  mountains. 
He  had  one  son,  Vincent,  the  darling  of  his  heart, 
who  had  been  sent  to  Paris  to  study  and  grow  ele- 
gant, accomplished,  and  wicked.    He  was  a  faithful 


WAR  PAINT. 


correspondent,  and  many  letters  passed  between 
them,  considering  the  limited  postal  accommodations 
of  the  age.  Vincent's  letters  generally  asked  for 
more  money,  and  the  father's  usually  contained  it,  for 
in  spite  of  his  spendthrift  tendency  he  was  a  brilliant 
young  man;  he  had  been  offered  a  position  in  the 
king's  own  body-guard,  and  of  course  needed  money 
to  maintain  the  credit  of  the  family.  Bear-hunting 
was  not  an  expensive  recreation ;  Isabel  was  a  girl, 
hence  it  was  no  more  proper  for  her  to  wish  to  study 
or  spend  money  than  to  hunt  bears,  so  the  old 
baron  thought,  and  therefore  all  of  his  ready  money 
was  sent  to  Vincent.  This  seemed  quite  satisfactory 
to  Isabel  and  to  the  baron,  and  they  talked  of  the 
brilliant  career  opening  to  their  idol  as  they  sat  to- 
gether beside  the  great  fire  in  the  carved  stone  fire- 
place. Girls  had  their  appropriate  field,  according 
to  the  old  baron's  notion,  in  which  it  was  quite 
improper  for  men  to  intermeddle;  this  field  was 
religion ;  here  he  expected  Isabel  to  represent  the 
family,  and  to  do  praying  and  church-going  enough 
for  himself  and  Vincent;  indeed,  Isabel  was  consid- 
ered by  all  who  knew  her  devout  enough  not  only 
for  three,  but  for  twenty  ordinary  people.     Her  con- 


Il6  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


fessor  was  very  strict,  and  there  gloomed  down  upon 
them  from  above  the  carved  mantel  a  portrait  of 
Torquemada,  the  cruel  inquisitor ;  he  caused  peo- 
ple to  be  burned  to  death  who  did  not  profess  what 
he  thought  was  the  true  religion.  The  sallow  face 
and  evil  eyes  of  the  portrait  had  a  strange  fascina- 
tion for  Isabel,  and  she  wished  that  her  life  had 
been  cast  in  times  when  she  could  have  made  some 
great  sacrifice  for  the  church,  —  have  sent  Vincent 
off  to  the  Crusades  for  the  recovery  of  Jerusalem, 
or  to  torture  in  the  secret  rooms  of  the  Inquisition. 
She  loved  Vincent  more  than  her  life  but  his  soul 
still  more,  and  would  have  unhesitatingly  ruined 
all  his  earthly  happiness  to  save  him  from  purga- 
tory. 

"  At  last  the  old  baron  died.  Vincent  was  baron 
now ;  he  came  back  .  from  Paris  to  take  posses- 
sion of  his  inheritance,  and  in  spite  of  the  shadow 
which  his  father's  death  threw  upon  them,  they  were 
very  happy,  for  Vincent  had  asked  Isabel  to  be  his 
wife.  Just  at  this  time  the  castle  was  visited  by  a 
travelling  Jesuit  priest,  named  Father  Rolle,  who 
was  preaching  a  new  crusade  throughout  France 
and  Spain.    He  told  them  that  bands  of  heretic 


WAR  PAINT. 


117 


Protestants,  most  wisely  and  properly  driven  from 
all  Christian  countries,  were  fleeing  over  seas,  and 
taking  refuge  in  that  new  and  goodly  land,  dedi- 
cated by  its  discoverer  to  their  Catholic  majesties, 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella  of  Spain ;  that  they  bid  fair 
to  expel  the  cross,  which  Columbus  had  planted,  for- 
ever from  its  shores,  and  that  the  crusade  which 
he  was  preaching  was  the  rescue  of  America  from 
the  heretic  Puritans.  Vincent  de  Castine,  young, 
thirsting  for  adventure  and  military  exploit,  accept- 
ed the  high  position  which  Father  Rolle  offered 
him  in  the  enterprise ;  Isabel  herself,  won  by  the 
crafty  reasoning  of  the  Jes- 
uit, urged  him  to  go  and 
aid  in  the  holy  war.  He 
went  with  Rolle  to  Maine, 
where  the  priest  established 
a  mission  among  the  Nor- 
ridgewock  Indians  on  the 
Kennebec  River,  converting 
a  great  many  of  them  to 
the  Catholic  faith,  and  per- 
suading them  to  hunt  out  and  kill  the  Puritans. 
Before  the  door  of  his  little  chapel  he  hung  a  ban- 


Il8  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


ner,  upon  which  he  had  rudely  painted  a  cross;  be- 
neath an  Indian  bow  and  quiver  filled  with  arrows, 
urging  them  in  picture-language,  which  is  so  much 
stronger  than  that  of  words,  to  take  up  arms  for 
the  cross,  and  promising  heaven  for  all  who  fell. 
The  young  baron  built  himself  a  fortress  on  Mount 
Desert;  the  rocky  mountain  reminded  him  of  his 
home,  and  — 

'  The  surf  at  its  foot  had  the  self-same  roar 
As  that  which  broke  on  the  Biscay  shore.' 

The  French  government,  which  had  other  reasons 
besides  religious  ones  for  expelling  the  Puritans 
from  New  England,  sent  him  from  time  to  time 
shiploads  of  guns  and  ammunition ;  these  he  dis- 
tributed among  the  Indians. 

"  Isabel,  in  her  lofty  turret,  prayed  for  the  good 
cause  as  she  bent  over  her  embroidery,  —  beau- 
tiful altar-cloths,  banners,  screens,  and  tapestries, 
which  she  sold  throughout  Europe,  sending  him 
the  proceeds  in  coins  of  the  different  countries 
where  she  found  sale  for  her  work.  England, 
Spain,  Italy,  Belgium,  and  France  were  all  repre- 
sented. She  also  sent  another  chest  filled  with 
vermilion  or  war  paint,  for  the  Indians.  Castine's 


WAR  PAINT. 


II9 


work  in  America  was  all  too  successful.  Our  his- 
tories tell  of  the  massacres  committed  by  his  In- 
dians ;  but  the  gifts  of  Lady 
Isabel  were  not  destined  to 
assist  in  it.  Without  know- 
ing it  she  had  collected 
the  chest  of  silver  for  a 
large  family  of  poor  chil- 
dren who  were  to  enjoy  it 
in  our  day.  Sir  Edmund 
Andros,  then  the  Governor 
of  Massachusetts,  sailed  up 
the  bay  in  his  frigate  Rose, 
and  Castine  fled,  carrying 
the  two  chests  with  him ; 
fr$\  IILrK   4^1%^Z^  but   finding  that  thev  im- 


120 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


peded  his  flight  the  chest  of  paint  was  first  thrown 
over  the  cliff,  and  next  that  containing  the  silver 
was  buried.  On  his  return  to  the  fortress  he  was 
unable  to  find  the  spot  where  the  concealed  treas- 
ure lay,  and  this  money  remained  undiscovered  until 
comparatively  a  few  years  since,  when  it  was  found 
by  the  mother  of  the  poor  children  whom  I  just 
mentioned.  This  strange  collection  of  miscellaneous 
coins  was  for  a  long  time  the  puzzle  of  antiqua- 
rians ;  among  them  was  found  one  with  Blessed  be 
the  Name  of  the  Lord  engraved  upon  its  border  in 
Latin :  1  Benedictum  sit  nomen  domini.'  People 
point  to  the  stain  upon  the  rock  as  the  place  where 
the  chest  of  vermilion  was  spilt;  Isabel's  labor  was 
thrown  away,  as  all  labor  is  which  is  given  to  War 
Paint." 

"  How  horrible  it  seems,"  said  Flossy,  "  that  those 
people  really  thought  they  were  serving  God  by 
murdering  each  other." 

"  We  have  not  got  so  very  far  beyond  them  in 
our  own  day,"  remarked  Uncle  Wylde.  "  War  still 
exists,  and  according  to  the  laws  of  all  Christian 
nations  we  murder  those  who  have  committed  mur- 
der.   Will  it  be  so,  I  wonder,  when  you  boys  are 


WAR  PAINT. 


I  2  I 


men  ?  Shall  I  ever  hear  sharp,  keen-witted  Frank, 
as  a  talented  lawyer,  pleading  that  one  of  his  play- 
mates be  hung?  Will  tender-hearted  John,  then 
a  learned  judge,  give  the  dreadful  sentence  with  the 
black  cap  on  his  golden  hair  ?  Will  Governor  Gus 
decline  the  petition  for  pardon  through  fear  of  being 
asked  to  resign?  and  who,  I  wonder,  will  be  hang- 
man? Or  will  you  decide,  when  your  chance  for 
voting  and  mak- 
ing laws  comes, 
that  there  shall 
be  no  more  judi- 
cial murder,  and 
wash  the 
stain  of  vermilion 
from  the  noble 
palette  of  our  native  land  ? " 

"  And  now,"  said  Tint,  "  I  suppose  you  want  to 
know  what  the  light  green  freckle  on  my  face  is, 
that  looks  like  a  great  round  pea.  Do  you  happen 
to  know  what  malachite  is  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Flossy ;  "  it  is  a  kind  of  streaky 
green  stone.  Mamma  has  some  sleeve-buttons  of 
it  that  came  from  Russia." 


122 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


"  Well,  that  freckle  is  Malachite  Green,"  said  Tint. 
"  People  don't  paint  with  stones,  do  they  ? "  asked 
Ruby  Rose,  incredulously. 

"  They  don't,  eh  ?  "  replied  Carrie,  sharply.    "  What 
was  it  with  which  you  made  that  elegant  and  strik- 
mKmgmrmummmgmgi   mg  portrait  of  the  schoolmaster 

on  the  gate-post  of  the  gram- 
IkS  ■   mar  school?" 

"  Yellow  chalk ;  but  who  said 
I  made  it  ?  "  replied  Ruby  Rose, 
in  a  whisper. 

"  And  chalk  is  stone,"  ex- 
claimed Flossy;  "and  I  heard 
your  father  say  he  meant  to  go  to  the  Pictured 
Rocks  for  his  next  vacation;  may  be  they  have 
something  to  do  with  this  kind  of  painting." 

"Not  much,"  replied  Tint;  "but  malachite,  just 
such  as  your  mother's  sleeve-buttons  are  made  of,  is 
used  largely  in  a  kind  of  rock-pictures  that  people 
call  mosaics ;  keep  your  ears  and  eyes  open,  and  you 
may  hear  and  see  something  about  them  before  we 
meet  again.  Some  one  is  coming,  and  I  can't  talk 
any  more,  just  now." 


MALACHITE  GREEN. 


MALACHITE  GREEN 


THE  MARVELLOUS  MARBLES. 


"  Peg 


LOSSY  Tangleskein  was 
playing   marbles.  She 
knew   it   was   a  boy's 
game,  and  not  exactly 
the  proper  thing  for  a  girl, 
that  is  for  a  great  girl  eleven 


years  old  ;  but  she  liked  boys' 
games  best,  and  especially 
"mibbles,"  for  this  was  what 
she  and  Ruby  Rose  and  the 
other  boys  in  the  neighbor- 
hood called  them, 
was  a  very  good  game  if 
one's  top  was  a  tiptop  article ;  but  for  October  there 
was  nothing  so  fashionable  in  their  society  as  "  In 
the  Bunny,"  and  "  Knock  Up."  Almost  all  women 
like  to  be  fashionable,  and  Flossy  was  only  a  little 


the 


Ring" 


126 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


woman.  I  do  not  know  how  it  may  be  where  you 
live,  but  in  Flossy's  set  every  child  knew  what  par- 
ticular game  was  in  season,  and  would  no  more 
trunk  of  playing  marbles  out  of  their  proper  months 
than  of  going  coasting  on  the  Fourth  of  July.  Flossy 
had  a  very  correct  eye,  and  usually  took  an  accurate 
aim ;  it  seemed  as  if  there  must  be  a  steel  spring 
inside  her  pink  little  thumb  which  sent  her  marbles 
snap,  just  where  she  wanted  them,  with  as  much  force 
as  if  they  had  been  shot  out  of  a  pop-gun.  Flossy 
was  honorable;  always  was  fair  and  never  played 
keeps,  and  the  boys  in  the  neighborhood  liked  to 
play  with  her.  She  kept  her  marbles  in  a  little 
silk  bag:  two  glass  ones,  with  colored  spirals  inside 
(which  the  boys  called  "  agates,"  to  the  honor  of 
the  Professor  of  Geology,  who  sometimes  stopped 
in  the  park  on  his  way  to  and  from  the  institute, 
and  watched  them  play) ;  these  Flossy  had  borrowed 
from  grandma's  solitaire-board  ;  three  "  alleys "  and 
a  "bull's-eye"  that  Ruby  Rose  gave  her,  with  two 
elaborately  decorated  "  chineys,"  encircled  by  wreaths 
of  gayly-colored  flowers,  and  six  little  mud-colored 
"  commonys  "  bought  with  the  money  which  she  first 
earned  for  the  missionaries,  and  then  changed  her 


THE  MARVELLOUS  MARBLES. 


127 


mind.  But  some  way  she  never  had  luck  with  any 
except  the  "  alleys  "  and  the  "  bull's-eye  " ;  the  pret- 
tiest "  agate "  broke  right  in  two  against  a  "  blood- 
alley"  of  Mikey  O'Leary's  the  first  time  she  used 
it,  and  her  "  missionaries,"  as  Ruby  called  them, 
always  burned  her  fingers ;  she  never  could  get  the 
thought  out  of  her  mind  that  the  money  ought  to 
have  gone  to  the  Cannibal  Islands.  Ruby  Rose 
had  a  disagreeable  way  of  alluding  to  them.  For 
instance,  one  afternoon  Flossy  looked  up  from  a 
book  she  was  reading  and  asked,  "  What  are  mo- 
saics, papa?"  Her  father  replied,.  "  They  are  paint- 
ings made  by  joining  different  colored  marbles 
together,  like  the  pieces  of  a  dissected' map."  Ruby 
immediately  asked,  "Any  'commony's'  or  'chineys,' 
or  won't  those  kinds  of  marbles  do  ?  "  Her  father 
did  not  understand,  and  so  did  not  reply,  and  Ruby 
went  out  of  the  room  singing  softly  to  himself, 
while  his  fingers  twitched  an  imaginary  pair  of 
clappers,  — 

"  If  I  were  a  Cassowary, 

And  lived  in  Timbuctoo, 
I  would  eat  a  missionary, 

Hat  and  band,  and  hymn-book,  too." 


128 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


Flossy 's  face  flamed  crimson ;  to  cover  her  confusion 
and  prevent  questions  which  she  feared,  she  asked 
quickly,  "  Won't  you  tell  me  some  more  about  mo- 
saics, papa  ? " 

"  Do  you  remember  the  rising  sun  bed-quilt  at 
Aunt  Toothaker's  ? "  asked  her  father,  laying  aside 
his  newspaper. 

"  O  yes,"  replied  Flossy ;  "  it  was  made  of  patch- 
work; there  was  a  great  orange 
sun  on  one  side ;  the  rays  were 
little  pieces  of  red  and  orange 
and  pink  calico  spread  all  over 
the  bed.  I  used  to  think  it 
very  pretty  when  I  was  a  little 
girl." 

"  Mosaic  is  very  much  like 
that,"  said  Mr.  Tangleskein ;  "  the  pieces  are  of 
stone  instead  of  calico,  fitted  together  with  such 
skill  that  very  beautiful  pictures  are  formed  in 
this  way.  They  have  the  advantage  of  being  much 
more  durable  than  oil-paintings.  The  finest  pic- 
ture in  the  world  —  Raphael's  Transfiguration,  in 
the  church  of  St.  Peter's  —  is  made  in  this  way,  as 
are  all  the  other  paintings  in  this  building.  Ghir- 


THE  MARVELLOUS  MARBLES. 


129 


landajo,  an  artist  whose  name,  by  the  way,  means 
wreaths  .or  garlands,  (and  who  was  so  named  be- 
cause he  began  life  as  a  silversmith,  and  made 
these  ornaments  very  prettily),  called  mosaics,  '  the 
only  painting  for  eternity.'  I  have  a  bit  of  mosaic 
which  I  will  show  you."  Mr.  Tangleskein  unlocked 
his  desk,  and  opening  a  small  box,  took  from  it  an 
unset  mosaic,  of  very  minute  bits,  made  in  the 
Roman  style.  It  represented  three  doves  standing 
upon  an  urn,  with  a  background  of  dark  green 
malachite. 

"  O,  how  lovely !  "  exclaimed  Flossy.  "  What  a 
beautiful  pendant  it  would  make  for  the  necklace 
auntie  gave  me  on  my  birthday.  Please,  please, 
papa,  give  it  to  me." 

"  I  will,"  said  her  father,  thoughtfully,  "  when  I 
think  you  deserve  it;  otherwise  you  would  not  keep 
it.  These  little  bits  of  marble  have  the  marvel- 
lous faculty  of  remaining  in  the  possession  of  those 
alone  who  have  earned  a  right  to  them  by  denying 
themselves  in  some  way,  —  doing  something  which 
was  personally  disagreeable,  or  giving  up  some  pleas- 
ure for  the  sake  of  others.  It  belonged  once  to  your 
grandmamma,  whose  portrait,  taken  when  she  was 


130 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


young,  hangs  over  the  piano,  and  whom  every  one 
says  you  resemble.  It  was  brought  to  her  from  Italy 
by  her  father,  who  was  a  sea-captain ;  she  wore  it  as 
a  brooch,  and  valued  it  more  than  any  of  her  other 
pieces  of  jewelry.  Grandpa  Tangleskein  admired  it 
very  much,  as  he  did  its  owner,  to  whom  he  was  then 
engaged  to  be  married.  He  loved  her  even  more 
than  he  did  his  pinch  of  snuff,  which  was  saying  a 
great  deal,  for  he  thought  as  much  of  that  as  young 
men  now-a-days  do  of  their  cigars.  But  Grandma 
Tangleskein  could  n't  bear  snuff,  —  and  what  do 
you  think  she  did  ?  She  had  her  beautiful  mosaic 
set  in  the  lid  of  a  handsome  silver  snuff-box;  and 
one  day  when  grandpa  called,  she  handed  it  to 
him,  saying,  '  Here  is  a  present  for  you,  Barzillai.' 

"  '  For  me  ! '  exclaimed  Grandpa  Tangleskein. 

" '  Yes,'  said  grandma,  '  on  two  conditions.' 

" '  On  as  many  as  you  choose,'  said  Grandpa  Tan- 
gleskein. 

"  *  First,  that  you  shall  never  carry  any  other  snuff- 
box.' 

" '  Of  course  not,'  said  Grandpa  Tangleskein. 
" '  Second,  that  you  will  always   carry  this  one 
empty,'  stipulated  grandma. 


THE  MARVELLOUS  MARBLES.  I  3 1 


'"What  then  shall  I  carry  my  snuff  in?' 

" 1  Don't  carry  any  snuff,  Barzillai.' 

"'Don't  you  like  snuff?'  asked  grandpa. 

" '  Not  a  bit,'  said  grandma,  '  it  makes  me  sneeze.' 
And  Grandpa  Tangleskein  feeling  that  this  argu- 
ment was  not  to  be  sneezed  at,  gallantly  prom- 
ised then  and  there  never  to  use  any  more  snuff. 
After  he  had  been  married  a  great  many  years 
he  felt  that  the  promise  had  been  extorted  from 
him  unfairly,  and  one  day  he  bought  some  fine 
Scotch  snuff,  and  filled  the  box 
with  it.  How  he  did  enjoy  that 
first  pinch  !  He  sneezed  three 
times,  sneezed  as  he  had  n't  since 
he  was  married ;  sneezed  till  the  tears  ran  down 
his  cheeks.  But  on  his  way  home  a  lady  in  the 
street-car  asked  him  to  close  the  window  behind 
her.  The  lady  was  a  pickpocket,  and  while  grandpa 
was  politely  shutting  the  window  she  slipped  her  . 
hand  into  his  coat-pocket  and  stole  the  snuff-box. 
When  grandpa  discovered  his  loss  she  had  left  the 
car.  Then  he  was  sorry  enough,  I  can  tell  you ; 
he  put  a  detective  on  her  track,  and  vowed  that  if  he 
ever  got  his  box  back  he  would  never  take  another 


132  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


pinch  of  snuff  as  long  as  he  lived.  The  box  came 
back,  and  this  time  Grandpa  Tangleskein  kept  his 
vow." 

"  And  how  did  you  get  it,  pa- 


pa 


"  After  grandpa  died  grandma 
said  that  I  might  have  it  if  I 
would  give  up  smoking ;  being 
her  only  child,  I  thought  the  box 
would  become  mine  anyhow,  and 
so  I  did  not  do  as  she  wished. 
Then  grandma  gave  it  to  a  certain 
Miss  Brown,  and  she  imposed  the 
same  condition,  and  I  consented, 
for  I  was  afraid  that  she  would  not 
marry  me  if  I  did  not ;  remem- 
bering grandpa's  experience,  I 
kept  my  promise." 

"  And  Miss  Brown  is  mamma  ?  " 
"Yes,  my  dear.  I  cannot  think  of  any  bad  habit 
which  I  wish  you  to  break.  Perhaps  your  worst 
fault  is  this ;  you  are  inclined  to  be  selfish.  When 
I  see  you  do  some  really  self-denying  generous  ac- 
tion I  shall  know  how  to  reward  it." 


THE  MARVELLOUS  MARBLES. 


133 


This  conversation  made  a  deep  impression  upon 
Flossy.  She  was  really  not  a  bit  more  generous 
than  before,  but  she  was  continually  on  the  look- 
out for  occasions  when  she  might  display  a  self-deny- 
ing spirit.  When  the  fruit  cake  was  passed,  instead 
of  saying,  "  How  mean  of  you  to  take  the  biggest 
piece,  I  wanted  it,"  she  remarked,  "  No,  I  thank 
you,  I  am  very  fond  of  fruit  cake,  but  I  am  afraid 
there  is  not  enough  to  go  around."  Her  mother 
looked  vexed,  for  there  was  company ;  her  father 
laughed,  but  said  nothing  about  the  mosaic.  At 
length  a  first-rate  occasion  presented  itself.  Her 
mother  received  a  letter  from  Aunt  Toothaker,  say- 
ing that  she  was  coming  to  make  them  a  visit,  and 
would  probably  stay  all  winter.  "  The  worst  of  it 
is,"  said  mamma,  "  Aunt  Toothaker  is  very  fond  of 
an  open  fire,  and  there  is  no  way  of  heating  the 
spare  room  except  by  the  furnace."  There  was  a 
grate  in  Flossy's  room,  and  Flossy  spoke  up  so 
quickly  that  it  had  all  the  appearance  of  an  unpre- 
meditated gush  of  good  nature,  "  Let  Aunt  Tooth- 
aker have  my  room,  mamma,  and  I  will  sleep  on 
the  couch  in  your  little  sewing-room  while  she  stays." 
Papa  gave  Flossy  a  quizzical  glance,  but  she  looked 


134 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


delightfully  unconscious.  As  Flossy  put  on  her 
overshoes  in  the  hall  she  heard  her  mamma  say ; 
"  Now  that  is  what  I  call  a  beautiful  self-denying 
spirit,"  and  she  ran  down  the  steps  to  school,  her 
cheeks  burning  for  very  shame,  and  the  missionary 

marbles  making  a  fearful  clat- 
ter in  her  pocket.  When  she 
came  home  there  was  the  cov- 
eted mosaic  on  her  pin-cush- 
ion ;  it  looked  so  handsome 
with  her  necklace  that  she 
could  not  bear  to  confess  how 
little  she  deserved  it ;  she  was 
to  sing  that  evening  at  a  little 
concert,  too,  and  she  choked 
down  a  vague  desire  which  she 
at  first  felt  to  hand  it  back  to 
her  father.  "  How  proud  she  is," 
said  the  other  girls  ;  "  did  you  notice  how  high  she  held 
her  chin,  so  that  every  one  should  see  her  necklace  ? " 

A  day  or  two  afterward  when  Flossy  moved  her 
things  into  the  little  sewing-room  the  mosaic  was 
not  to  be  found;  and  yet  she  was  sure  that  she 
had  placed  it  on  her  pin-cushion  when  she  went 


THE  MARVELLOUS  MARBLES.  1 35 


to  school  that  morning,  and  so  she  had,  but  she 
was  late,  and  in  her  hurry  had  neglected  to  close 
the  front  door.  She  passed  a  strange  woman  on 
her  hurried  way,  who  seemed  to  be  scrutinizing 
the  door-plates  in  search  of  some  particular  name. 
The  woman  was  what  is  called  a  sneak^thief ;  she 
walked  slowrly  along  the  street  till  her  sharp  eye 
detected  the  very  narrow  crack  which  told  that  Mr. 
Tangleskein's  front  door  was  not  quite  closed.  With 
a  catlike  tread  she  mounted  the  steps,  listened,  pushed 
the  door  open  a  little  further,  took  a  good  strong 
sniff  of  the  pleasant  perfume  of  coffee  which  came 
up  from  the  dining-room,  stepped  into  the  hall,  lis- 
tened again,  and  then,  as  the  clatter  of  dishes  as- 
sured her  that  the  family  were  still  at  breakfast, 
mounted  swiftly  and  silently  to  the  next  floor. 
Flossy's  door  stood  wide  open  ;  in  another  min- 
ute her  necklace  and  mosaic  had  slipped  into  the 
strange  woman's  pocket,  and  the  woman  herself  left 
the  house  as  silently  as  she  had  entered  it. 

Now  you  will  think  that  the  mosaic  had  lost  its 
marvellousness,  for  certainly  the  thief  deserved  it 
even  less  than  Flossy.  But  you  will  see  in  a  mo- 
ment that  the  little  doves  of  peace  still  retained 


136 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


their  magical  power  of  remaining  only  with  the 
worthy.  As  the  woman  left  the  house  an  omnibus 
passed,  and  thinking  that  she  could  escape  observa- 
tion in  it  more  quickly  than  by  any  other  way,  she 
hailed  it  and  entered.  A  gentleman  in  a  cloth  cape, 
with  his  hands  conspicuously  crossed  upon  his  lap, 


politely  made  room  for  her,  crowding  the  lady  just 
beyond  him  a  little  as  he  did  so.  A  moment  later 
this  lady  exclaimed :  "  I  have  lost  my  purse  !  "  Every 
one  looked  sympathetic,  the  gentleman  in  the  long 
cloak  rose  that  she  might  see  if  she  had  dropped 


THE  MARVELLOUS  MARBLES. 


137 


it,  but  the  search  was  useless.  The  lady  herself 
thought  of  the  crowding  and  wondered  if  this  gen- 
tleman could  be  a  pickpocket,  but  that  was  not  pos- 
sible, for  his  neatly  gloved  hands  had  lain  perfectly 
motionless  before  him  all  the  time.  Shortly  after 
the  gentleman  alighted  the  woman  who  had  stolen 
Flossy 's  necklace  slipped  her  hand  into  her  pocket, 
—  the  necklace  was  gone!  The  man  was  a  pick- 
pocket; the  hands  which  the  passengers  had  seen 
were  only  stuffed  ones ;  his  real  fingers  were  free 
under  the  folds  of  the  cloak  to  examine  the  pock- 
ets of  his  neighbors. 

People  say  there  is  honor  among  thieves,  so  per- 
haps if  he  had  known  that  the  mosaic  was  stolen 
he  would  not  have  taken  it,  but  even  this  is  doubt- 
ful;  it  mattered  very  little  whether  he  took  it  or 
not,  for  the  power,  more  wonderful  than  that  which 
was  supposed  to  reside  in  the  philosopher's  stone, 
still  wrought  in  the  little  mosaic,  drawing  it  to 
some  one  who  should  own  it  rightfully,  just  as  a 
little  particle  of  steel  acknowledges  the  attractive 
power  of  a  magnet. 

Huey  Hannagan  was  playing  in  the  park  with 
his  dog  Peeler.    Huey  would  have  resented  being 


138  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


called  a  pickpocket,  but  he  acknowledged  to  him- 
self that  Peeler  was  one.  Peeler  was  a  very  sharp 
dog,  and  had  had  careful  training;  he  would  stand 
on  his  hind-legs  and  balance  a  lump  of 
^u£*#  sugar  on  his  nose  while  Huey  said  one, 
two,  three,  fire !  when  the  last  word  came, 
that  lump  of  sugar  would  disappear  with 
0  a  snap,  though  until  Huey  gave  the  or- 
IJ^^p  der  fire,  the  two  followed  the  one,  and 
the  three  the  two  with  tantalizing  slow- 
ness, and  only  a  hungry  roll  of  the  eye  betokened 
the  fact  that  Peeler  was  not  a  stuffed  dog.  But 
Peeler's  chief  accomplishment  was  picking  pockets. 
He  would  prowl  about  in  the  park,  watching  for 
handkerchiefs.  Whenever  he  saw  a  heliotrope-scented 
hem-stitched  cambric  showily  protruding  from  the 
pocket  of  a  dandy's  ulster,  or  the  corner  of  a  red 
silk  handkerchief  drooping  temptingly  from  some 
old  gentleman's  coat-tail,  Peeler  made  a  quick  jump, 
one  snap,  and  then  was  off  with  it  as  fast  as  his 
four  legs  could  carry  him.  Huey  would  chase  the 
dog,  capture  the  handkerchief,  and  return  it  to  its 
owner,  demanding  and  generally  receiving  a  nickel 
for  his  services ;  he  had  been  warned  by  the  police 


THE  MARVELLOUS  MARBLES.  1 39 


It  was  a  good ,  chance 


that  his  dog  would  be  shot,  and  himself  arrested, 
if  they  persisted  in  their  evil  ways ;  but  nothing 
had  as  yet  come  of  it.  As  the  gentleman  in  the 
long  cape  passed  through  the 
park  he  noticed  that  he  was  quite 
alone ;  only  a  little  cur  trotted 
meditatively  at  his  heels,  having 
left  a  boy,  who  was  standing  on 
his  head  at  the  entrance, 
to  dispose  of  his  stuffed  hands;  he  cautiously  un- 
pinned them,  threw  his  cloak  over  his  arm,  and  was 

cramming  them  inside  the 
breast  of  his  coat  when  he 
felt  a  sharp  twitch  at  his 
Jr  trousers-pocket,  and  looking 
back  saw  Peeler  racing  down 
the  park  with  his  handkerchief  in  his  mouth,  the 
necklace,  which  had  fallen  over  his  head,  surround- 
ing his  neck  like  a  collar,  and  the  mosaic  swaying 
in  padlock  style  behind.  Of  course  he  turned  and 
ran  after  Peeler.  Huey,  who  had  been  standing  on 
his  head,  suddenly  assumed  his  proper  position,  and 
joined  in  the  chase,  outstripping  the  gentleman. 
Now  Peeler  was  the  first  who  really  deserved  the 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


mosaic,  for  he  had  stolen  it  very  cleverly,  and  in 
doing  so  had  performed  his  duty  as  well  as  he 
knew  it.  But  Peeler  was  a  dog,  and  the  laws  of 
eternal  justice  do  not  seem  to  apply  to  the  mem- 
bers of  the  canine  race,  for  the  mosaic  allowed  it- 
self to  be  taken  off  of  Peeler's  neck  by  Huey  with- 
out making  the  slightest  opposition.  Now  by  a 
strange  fate  Huey  had  a  special  admiration  for  Mr. 
Tangleskein's  chambermaid,  though  that  young  lady 
was  fully  three  years  older  than  himself.  He  had 
long  been  wanting  to  make  her  a  present,  and  here 
seemed  to  be  the  coveted  opportunity,  for  the  gen- 
tleman in  the  long  cloak,  finding  that  he  was  at- 
tracting attention  by  running,  had  turned  back,  and 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  And  so  it  happened  that 
on  the  following  day  the  necklace  and  mosaic  found 
their  way  back  to  the  very  house  from  which  they 
had  been  taken. 

"  Whist,  Huey  Hannagan  !  "  exclaimed  the  cham- 
bermaid ;  "  ye  have  n't  been  stalin',  have  yees  ?  Sure 
that 's  the  very  crayther  the  young  lady 's  been 
mournin'  for." 

But  the  chambermaid,  although  she  recognized  it, 
could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  return  it.    "  Sure 


THE  MARVELLOUS  MARBLES. 


141 


I  came  by  it  honestly  enough,"  she  kept  saying  to 
her  troublesome  conscience.  She  did  not  dare  to 
keep  it  in  her  own  room  for  fear  the  police  would 
be  called  in  to  search  it,  and  for  a  time  the  neck- 
lace rested  in  her  petticoat-pocket,  but  even  this 
did  not  seem  to  her  a  safe  place.  Aunt  Toothaker 
now  occupied  Flossy 's  room ;  she  was  a  great  inva- 
lid, and  was  confined  to  her  bed  with  an  attack  of 
rheumatism,  contracted  while  coming  down  in  the 
boat.  She  was  not  always  able  to  rise  and  have 
her  bed  made,  and  was  quite  unable  to  make  it 
herself.  The  chambermaid  therefore  concluded  that 
the  best  place  to  hide  the  necklace  for  the  present 
would  be  under  Aunt  Toothaker's  mattress,  and 
accordingly  slipped  it  in  there. 

And  all  this  time  Flossy  was  grieving,  not  be- 
cause she  no  longer  owned  the  mosaic,  for  she  knew 
she  never  had  any  right  to  it,  and  felt  that  it  was 
quite  just  she  should  be  punished  for  her  hypocrisy 
by  losing  the  necklace,  too;  but  she  could  not  for- 
give herself  that  she  had  once  owned  the  mosaic; 
its  loss  was  a  grief  to  her  father,  and  if  he  had 
not  given  it  to  her  it  might  still  be  resting  in 
his  desk.     She  was  heartily  ashamed  of  her  con- 


142 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


duct,  too,  and  was  doing  her  best  to  make  repara- 
tion. Aunt  Toothaker  made  her  a  present  of  a 
quarter  of  a  dollar,  and  she  at  once  invested  a 
part  of  it  in  two  glass  marbles  for  grandma's  soli- 
taire-board, and  placed  the  money  left  from  the 
purchase  in  the  long-defrauded  mis- 
sionary-box. Even  then  she  could  not 
bear  the  sight  of  her  little  "  mud- 
colored  missionaries,"  and  she  gave 
them  to  a  little  boy  of  her  acquaint- 
"^3?  ance,  who  had  gone  into  a  gambling 
speculation  with  "  Keeps,"  and  lost  all  of  his  capi- 
tal. She  was  trying  her  best  now  to  do  self-denying 
things,  not  ostentatiously,  but  quietly,  when  she 
thought  no  one  would  find  it  out.  These  she  did 
for  the  sake  of  the  pleasurable  sense  of  returning 
self-respect  which  the  doing  of  them  gave  her,  and 
with  no  thought  that  the  mosaic  would  ever  come 
back. 

She  did  not  like  Aunt  Toothaker,  for  she  was  a 
very  complaining  and  unlovely  invalid;  but  she  forced 
herself  to  go  to  her  room  often  and  do  little  kindly 
things  for  her.  "  I  wish  Jane  would  make  my  bed 
earlier,"  said  Aunt  Toothaker,  pettishly,  one  day; 


THE  MARVELLOUS  MARBLES. 


143 


"  I  believe  she  leaves  it  on  purpose  until  the  very- 
last." 

"  If  I  can  make  it  well  enough,  auntie,  I  will  do  it 
every  morning  before  breakfast," 
said  Flossy.  And  this  was  a 
very  heroic  offer  on  her  part, 
for  she  would  have  to  get  up  a 
full  half  hour  earlier.  Flossy 
was  very  fond  of  her  morning 
nap,  and  had  been  heard  to  say 
that  if  there  was  anything  she 
despised,  it  was  making  beds.  Of 
course  she  found  her  reward,  for  on  turning  the 
heavy  mattress  over,  —  having  first  debated  in  her 
mind  whether  it  would  not  do  just  to  punch  it  up 
a  little,  but  concluding  that  what  was  worth  doing 
at  all  was  worth  doing  well,  —  what  should  meet 
her  astonished  gaze,  but  the  lost  mosaic  and  neck- 
lace. "  I  suppose  I  must  have  hidden  them  there 
myself,"  she  said,  "  instead  of  laying  them  on  the 
pin-cushion ;  but  it  s  funny,  I  don't  remember  one 
speck  about  it,  not  one  speck." 

"You  did  it  in  your  sleep,"  said  Aunt  Toothaker. 

The  mosaic  adventure  determined  Flossy  to  call 


144 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


upon  Tint  for  a  story  about  "  painting  in  stones." 
But  the  Paint  Bogy,  on  being  summoned,  declared 
that  Flossy  had  had  quite  enough  of  Malachite 
Green.  "  However,"  said  he,  "  before  I  tell  you  some- 
thing about  the  next  color  on  the  palette,  suppose 
you  let  me  know  what  you  have  learned  about 
mosaics." 

"  I  know  all  about  them,"  said  Flossy,  confidently, 
"  for  father  gave  me  some  books  to  read,  and  after 
I  lost  my  mosaic  I  thought 
if  I  could  not  have  it  to  look 
at  any  longer,  I  would  have 
it  in  my  head  any  way,  where 
I  could  not  lose  it,  and  so  I 
read  everything,  and  some  was  ever 
so  stupid,  too." 

"  Tell  me  what  you  know  about  mo- 
saics," said  Tint,  authoritatively,  very 
much  in  the  sarcastic  way  that  Flos- 
sy's  teacher,  Miss  Cramchild,  would 
remark  on  examination-day:  "  Miss  Tan- 
gleskein  may  write  out  an  unabbreviated  account  of 
everything  she  knows,  and  she  is  requested  to  so  space 
and  elongate  her  statements  that  they  shall  partially 


THE  MARVELLOUS  MARBLES. 


145 


or  approximately  cover  a  half  page  of  commercial 
note." 

Flossy  drew  a  long  breath.  "  Well,  there  are  four 
kinds,"  she  said,  at  length ;  "  the  Florentine,  like 
Aunt  Kohinoor's  black  marble  centre  table,  inlaid 
with  flowers  and  ribbons  and  banjos  and  things ;  in 
this  kind  each  petal  of  the  flowers  seems  to  be 
made  of  a  single  piece.  Then  there  is  the  Roman 
kind,  which  is  much  finer,  and  has  an  appearance 
of  worsted  work  on  canvas.  I  read  that  the  origi- 
nal mosaic  from  which  my  doves  were  copied  was 
formed  of  such  small  stones  that  one  hundred  and 
sixty  pieces  are  contained  in  each  square  inch.  There 


are  two  other  kinds,  the  Venetian  and  the  Byzan- 
tine, but  some  way  I  don't  remember  anything  about 
them  ;  perhaps  it  is  because  I  never  saw  any." 
Tint  nodded  approvingly.    "  The  Florentine  and 


146 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


Roman  kinds  are  the  commonest ;  enough  for  a 
little  girl  like  you  to  remember ;  "  and  then  he 
asked,  "  Can  you  tell  me  where  mosaics  were  first 
invented  ?  " 

"  In  Asia ;  for  Pliny,  describing  the  dove  mosaic, 
informs  us  that  he  saw  it  in  a  temple  at  Pergamos. 
Papa  says  that  Pliny's  description  was  such  a  good 
one  that  the  picture  is  called  Pliny's  Doves,  and 
not  by  the  name  of  the  artist.  Probably  it  was 
Pliny's  glowing  account  which  induced  the  Emperor 
Hadrian  to  send  artists  to  Pergamos,  and  have  it 
very  carefully  copied  for  his  villa  at  Tivoli,  near 
Rome,  among  the  ruins  of  which  it  was  discovered 
by  Cardinal  Furietti." 

"  And  where  is  this  mosaic  now  ? "  asked  Tint. 

Flossy  laughed,  and  replied:  "Grandma  Tangle- 
skein  declares  that  it  is  in  some  European  Museum 
of  Iniquities;  she  meant  Antiquities,  I  suppose. 
Papa  says  it  is  in  Rome,  at  the  Museum  of  the 
Capitol.  There  also  is  the  statue  of  the  Dying- 
Gladiator,  and  the  Faun  that  Hawthorne  wrote  about. 
I  have  found  out  why  Ghirlandajo  called  mosaics 
'painting  for  eternity.'" 

"This  is  only  one  of  the  great  mosaic  pictures," 


THE  MARVELLOUS  MARBLES.  147 


said  Tint.  "  There  are  many  very  old  stone  paint- 
ings in  the  churches  of  Florence  and  Venice  and 
Pisa ;  some  of  them  are  of  immense  size.  That  this 
kind  of  decoration  was  used  very  commonly  for  walls 
and  pavements  by  the  ancient  Romans,  old  Vesu- 
vius has  taught  us  by  its  preservation  of  Pompeii 
in  a.  d.  79." 

"  Preservation  of  Pompeii ! "  repeated  Flossy,  in 
surprise ;  "  you  mean  destruction,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  mean  preservation,"  replied  Tint,  sharply.  "  Of 
all  the  cities  which  existed  in  Italy  at  the  same 
time  with  Pompeii,  how  many  remain  so  complete 
to-day?  Every  wagon-rut  in  the  streets,  every  arti- 
cle of  furniture,  of  dress,  or  of  food  in  the  houses, 
is  perfect;  every  painting  as  bright  and  uninjured 
as  it  was  eighteen  hundred  years  ago." 

"  I  should  not  like  to  be  preserved  that  way, 
though,"  remarked  Flossy,  meditatively ;  "  it  must  be 
something  like  preserved  crabs,  very  nice  for  the 
people  who  are  going  to  open  the  can,  but  not  very 
interesting  for  the  crabs." 

"  Every  one  must  die  sometime,  and  these  people 
were  covered  by  the  soft  ashes  just  as  the  babes  in 
the  woods  were  buried  in  the  leaves.    There  were 


148  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


many  starving  people  there  who  would  never  be 
hungry  any  more,  many  enemies  who  have  lain  side 
by  side  ever  since,  with  never  an  angry  word  pass- 
ing between  them,  for  — 

'The  sulphurous  rifts  of  passion  and  war 

Lie  deep  'neath  a  silence  calm  and  smooth, 
Like  burnt-out  craters  healed  with  snow.' 

I  will  tell  you  a  story  of  the  volcano  when  we  come 
to  Naples  Yellow." 

Perhaps  the  younger  readers  will  be  more  inter- 
ested to  turn  directly  to  this  promised  story  of  Tint's ; 
that  on  Silver  White,  which  comes  next,  is  too  old 
for  the  younger  heads.  It  may  attract  some  of  the 
older  children  who  care  for  Art. 


SILVER  WHITE. 


SILVER  WHITE. 


THE  CHRIST-CHILD  OF  THE  LOUVRE. 

HITE  signifies  purity, 
innocence,  faith,  joy, 
and  light,"  began 
Tint.  "  Can  you  tell 
me  what  day  to-mor- 
row will  be  ? " 

"  Christmas  Day," 
exclaimed  both  of  the 
children  in  a  breath. 

"  And  when  I  say  that  there  was  never  but  one 
child  whose  character  seemed  expressed  by  the  sym- 
bol white,  and  this  child  was  born  on  Christmas 
Day,  you  will  know  whom  I  mean  ? "  The  children 
nodded  gravely. 

"  Have  you  ever  wondered,"  was  Tint's  next  ques- 
tion, "  what  the  baby  Jesus  looked  like  ?  It  may  be 
interesting  to  you  in  this  Christmas  season  to  know 


152 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


how  a  few  of  the  greatest  painters  imagined  him. 
You  both  know  what  the  word  revival  means,  and 
that  there  may  be  revivals  of  other  things  than  re- 
ligion. During  the  latter  half  of  the  fifteenth  and 
the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  centuries,  there  was 
a  great  Art  revival,  —  a  general  awakening  and  ex- 
citement on  the  subject  of  painting  all  over  Europe, 
and  especially  in  Italy.  Each  of  the  more  impor- 
tant Italian  cities  had  her  great  painter.  High 
among  its  many  illustrious  names  Florence  wreathed 
with  garlands  that  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci;  and  Ven- 
ice, as  though  this  was  a  challenge,  sent  flashing 
back  a  still  greater  name,  —  that  of  Titian.  Bologna 
named  the  Caracci  as  her  favorites,  while  Parma  and 
Modena  presented  rival  claims  for  Correggio;  and 
Rome  carried  off  the  palm  when  she  could  boast  of 
Raphael. 

"  Try  to  remember  the  names  of  these  artists,  and 
the  cities  which  they  represented:  — 

Raphael  Rome, 


Titian 


Correggio 


Leonardo  da  Vinci 


Caracci 


Venice, 
Florence, 
Bologna, 
Parma. 


THE  CHRIST-CHILD  OF  THE  LOUVRE.      1 53 


Now  let  us  see  how  all  of  these  artists  painted  the 
Christ-Child.  Raphael,  the  prince  of  painters,  is  the 
one  who  has  left  the  most  portrait  guesses  at  the 
appearance  of  the  Divine  baby,  any  one  of  which 
is  exquisite  enough  to  have  been  a  true  portrait. 
They  are  so  many  and  so  varied  that  it  seems  as  if 
some  one  of  them  must  be  the  true  Christ-Child. 
That  best  known,  whose  sweetly  serious  face  satisfies, 
perhaps,  the  conception  of  most  people,  is  the  babe 
in  the  arms  of  the  Sistine  Madonna,  of  the  Dresden 
Gallery.  Almost  every  child  knows  the  two  cherub 
faces  that  look  up  from  the  clouds  under  the  Vir- 
gin's feet.  But  the  Gallery  of  the  Louvre,  in  Paris, 
contains  a  Madonna  called  La  Belle  Jardiniere,  or 
The  Gardener's  Beautiful  Daughter;  she  holds  by 
the  hand  an  infant  Christ,  of  equally  enchanting- 
loveliness.  It  is  the  most  fascinating  picture  in  the 
great  gallery;  no  other  painter  has  realized  so  per- 
fectly the  ideal  of  innocence  and  purity.  Like  every 
other  work  of  this  master,  — 

'  The  picture  has  the  gracious  air  that  tells 
The  hand  that  painted  it  was  Raphael's.' 

There  are  only  two  other  artists  whose  work  can 
in  any  way  compare  with  that  of  Raphael,  and  they 
are  the  rival  masters  of  Venice  and  Florence. 


154 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


"  Titian  represents  the  child  at  play  with  a  rab- 
bit. The  introduction  of  the  little  pet  animal  into 
the  picture  makes  us  feel  that  the  characters  in  the 
scene  really  lived  and  enjoyed  life  on  this  very  same 
earth,  instead  of  sitting  always  upon  clouds  in  mid- 
air. Titian  lived  to  be  a  very  old 
man,  dying  at  the  age  of  ninety- 
nine,  not  from  old  age,  but  a  vic- 
tim to  the  terrible  plague  which 
swept  away  children  and  strong 
men.  He  painted  up  to  his  death, 
saying  a  short  time  before  it,  '  I 
only  begin  to  understand  what  painting  is.' 

u  The  Christ-Child  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci  also  ca- 
resses a  pet ;  in  this  instance  the  more  conventional 
and  typical  lamb.  The  picture  overflows  with  the 
expression  of  love  and  tenderness.  The  child  looks 
up  with  the  deepest  affection  into  his  mother's  ador- 
ing face;  the  Virgin,  herself,  is  seated  in  the  lap  of 
her  mother,  St.  Anna,  who  holds  her  daughter  with 
a  proudly  encircling  arm,  beaming  down  upon  the 
group  a  smile  such  as  Da  Vinci  alone  knew  how 
to  paint.  She  is  the  most  charming  of  grandmoth- 
ers, and  her  smile  has  been  described  as  one  of 


THE  CHRIST-CHILD  OF  THE  LOUVRE.      1 55 


wondrous  content,  summing  up  all  human  emotion 
in  a  transfigured  expression  of  perfect  happiness. 
It  is  a  picture  which  makes  one  long  to  be  a  grand- 
mother. 

"  A  mirthful  spirit  is  portrayed  in  Caracci's  Vierge 
au  Silence;  it  contains  a  bewitching  little  St.  John, 
who  is  tickling  the  feet  of  the  sleeping  Christ-Child 
in  a  mischief-loving  and  thoroughly  boy-like  way. 
The  Virgin  shakes  her  finger  at  the  roguish  little 
curly-head,  in  a  way  which  says  as  plainly  as  words, 
'  Naughty  boy ! '  This  Caracci  was  destined  by  his 
father  to  be  a  tailor,  but  his  cousin,  Ludovico,  see- 
ing what  a  genius  he  possessed  for  painting,  begged 
that  he  might  work  in  his  studio.  Perhaps  he  re- 
membered the  trials  of  his  own  youth  as  a  butch- 
er's boy ;  when  he  began  his  artistic  studies  his 
comrades  ridiculed  his  stupidity,  nicknaming  him 
4  Ox.'  Even  his  master,  the  great  Tintoretto,  mis- 
led by  his  plodding  slowness,  advised  him  to  give 
up  painting. 

"  In  an  obscure  town,  half-way  between  Modena 
and  Parma,  was  born  a  great  artist,  of  whom  very 
little  is  known.  Even  Vasari,  who  lived  at  the 
same  time,  and  wrote   the   histories  of  his  artist 


156 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


contemporaries,  has  not  been  able  to  tell  us  much 
of  his  life.  His  name,  Allegri,  might  be  translated 
Mirthful  (not  an  unpleasant  title  to  bear),  but  we 
have  preferred  to  remember  him  by  the  name  of 
his  birthplace,  Correggio.  He  has  left  many  paint- 
ings of  rare  loveliness;  not  least  among  which  is 
The  Marriage  of  St.  Catharine.  St.  Catharine, 
according  to  the  Catholic  legend,  was  the  bride  of 
the  Saviour.  In  this  picture  the  infant  Jesus,  seated 
on  his  mother's  knee  with  baby  awkwardness,  is 
trying  to  place  a  ring  upon  St.  Catharine's  finger. 
The  action  is  charmingly  natural,  and  the  expres- 
sion of  mother  and  bride  is  full  of  tender  sweetness 
and  interest,  while  the  tints  of  the  painting  are  of 
that  refinement  and  delicacy  which  give  Correggio 
his  high  rank  as  a  colorist. 

"  All  of  these  paintings  are  in  the  Gallery  of  the 
Louvre,  where  you  may  hunt  them  out  for  your- 
selves when  you  go  to  Europe.  Here,  too,  are  La 
Vierge  de  Seville  of  Murillo,  and  La  Vierge  aux 
Donateurs  of  Van  Dyck,  representatives  of  the  Span- 
ish and  Flemish  schools.  Murillo's  painting  is  more 
supernatural  and  mystical  in  treatment  than  the  other 
pictures.     God  the   Father  is  represented   in  the 


THE  CHRIST-CHILD  OF  THE  LOUVRE.      1 57 


guise  of  an  old  man  stooping  from  the  clouds  and 
blessing  the  group,  while  a  dove,  typifying  the  Holy 
Spirit,  floats  over  their  heads ;  a  number  of  chubby 
little  angels  are  kicking  and  sprawling  about  in  the 
air.  The  faces  of  the  Madonna  and  child  have 
genuine  earthly  babyhood  and  motherhood  in  them. 
In  his  picture  Van  Dyck  has  represented  a  good 
old  Dutch  burgomaster  and  his  wife,  probably  his 
patrons.  Having  ordered  this  picture  they  undoubt- 
edly thought  it  a  good  opportunity  to  have  their 
own  portraits  taken,  thus  economically  accomplish- 
ing two  objects  at  the  same  time.  The  worthy 
couple,  with  their  honest  faces  and  exaggerated 
ruffs,  kneel  piously  before  the  Madonna,  while  the 
babe,  a  genuine  roguish  little  Puck,  tweaks  in  merry 
mood  the  gray  mustache  of  the  kneeling  gentle- 
man. Even  when  attempting  so  sacred  a  subject 
as  this,  the  earlier  artists  were  not  afraid  to  be 
funny.  Some  of  them  were  unconsciously  so.  No 
one  ever  accused  Perugino  of  being  a  humorist ;  ' 
but  his  little  gourmand  in  this  gallery,  with  two 
uplifted  pudgy  fingers,  seems  signalling  an  invisible 
waiter  to  bring  him  something  especially  good 
to  eat.    A  still  droller  conception,  executed,  how- 


158 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


ever,  with  much  sweetness,  is  furnished  by  Vanni's 
Bambino  wrapped  in  swaddling-clothes,  after  the 
Italian  fashion.  It  differs  only  from  an  Indian  pap- 
poose  or  an  animated  mummy,  in  having  its  arms 
free  ;  conspicuous  on  one  wrist  is  a  coral  bracelet. 
A  child-like  smile  lights  up  the  droll  little  face  as 
he  takes  his  food,  which  a  winged  angel  is  serv- 
ing him  on  a  plate.  Joseph,  in  the  mean  time,  com- 
posedly eats  a  quantity  of  cherries,  alone  in  a  corner, 

apparently  fearing   lest  the 
infant   might   cry  for  what 
was   prudently  deemed  un- 
suitable for  his  tender  years. 
A  lighter  and  more  grace- 
fully fantastic   treatment  of 
the  subject  is  shown  by  Parme- 
gianino,  who  gives  us  a  real  val- 
entine with  two  little  loves  em- 
bracing.    He   calls   them  Christ 
and  St.  John. 
"  The  present  list  of  examples  from  the  Louvre 
Gallery  might   be   more  than   doubled,  presenting 
types  differing  widely  from  the  ones  we  have  been 
studying;  types  corresponding  to  differences  of  race 


THE  CHRIST-CHILD  OF  THE  LOUVRE.      1 59 


in  the  individual  model ;  varying  according  to  the 
imaginations  of  the  artists,  and  the  methods  of  their 
several  schools.  Perhaps  enough  has  been  shown 
by  this  brief  glance  at  the  works  of  a  few  masters; 
they  were,  with  but  two  exceptions,  of  the  same 
nationality,  and  nearly  the  same  period.  We  have 
passed  from  artists  who  painted,  with  slavish  real- 
ism, the  individual  bambino  posing  before  them,  to 
those  who,  with  more  of  poetic  fancy  or  humor, 
gave  us  little  Cupids  and  sprites  of  fairy-land.  Then 
we  advanced  to  the  few  who  have  approached  our 
own  highest  ideal  of  the  angelic  and  the  divine, — 
to  hint  at  the  infinity  of  dissimilar  types  which  have 
stood  for  the  artist's  ideal  of  the  Christ-Child.  Was 
there  ever  a  mother  who  did  not  at  some  time,  when 
her  baby  has  looked  up  more  caressingly  than  usual 
into  her  face,  fancy  that  the  baby  Jesus  must  have 
looked  like  her  own  little  one?  And  was  not  her 
sense  of  ownership  in  the  Christ-Child,  the  '  Unto 
us  a  child  is  born,'  made  something  more  real  by 
this  fancied  resemblance  ?  There  is  also  a  view  of 
the  matter  for  you  little  folks  to  take.  If,  when 
you  were  babies,  your  mothers  thought  you  resem- 
bled the  beautiful  child  Jesus,  can  you  have  -the 


i6o 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


heart  to  disappoint  them  as  you  grow  older,  by 
developing  un-Christ-like  tendencies? 

'  Not  only  in  the  Christmas  tide 
The  holy  baby  lay ; 
But  month  by  month  his  home  he  blessed 
And  brightened  every  day. 

1  He  made  the  winter  soft  as  spring, 

The  summer  brave  and  clear, 
For  Christ,  who  lived  for  all  the  world, 
Was  part  of  all  the  year.' " 


Just  then  Ruby's  father  entered  the  studio,  and 
Tint's  arms  shut  up  with  a  spasm,  his  legs  dropped 
off  into  an  ordinary  pile  of  brushes,  his  eyes  gradu- 
ally lost  their  expression  and  faded  out  of  his  face. 
He  made  no  resistance  whatever  when  Mr.  Rose 
coolly  slipped  his  thumb  through  the  Paint  Bogy's 
mouth,  and  began  scraping  the  Silver  White  off  with 
his  palette-knife,  remarking  that  it  was  "  too  dry 
for  anything." 


THE  CHRIST-CHILD  OF  THE  LOUVRE.  l6l 


The  children  did  not  hear  any  more  stories  dur- 
ing the  holidays  following  Tint's  lecture  on  the 
Christ-Child.  They  were  such  merry  days,  so  full 
of  varied  kinds  of  amusement,  that  the  children  al- 
most forgot  the  Paint  Bogies  and  their  promise  to 
appear  again  if,  alone  in  the  studio,  they  were  in- 
voked according  to  a  formula  which  Tint  had  given. 
This  invocation  I  cannot  tell  you  here,  for  Tint 
closed  his  remarks  by  warning  the  children  never, 
never  to  impart  the  secret  to  any  one  else.  "  If 
you  do,"  said  he, — 

" '  I  have  two  horns  as  long  as  spears ; 
/  7/  poke  your  eyes  out  at  your  ears?  " 

Beside,  what  would  be  the  use  of  my  telling  these 
stories  if  you  could  get  them  for  nothing  at  first 
hand  ? 

When  school  began  again,  and  life  took  on  its 
regular  humdrum,  the  children  remembered  the 
promise  of  more  stories;  but  the  Saturdays  were, 
too,  so  precious  as  play-days  that  they  could  not 
be  given  up  to  the  Bogies ;  the  weeks  flew  by, 
and  now  it  was  spring. 


NAPLES  YELLOW. 


I 


NAPLES  YELLOW. 


NEAPOLITAN  ORANGES. 


S  Naples  a  golden  city,  like 
-i[ »  iJi^Ji  n  the     Heavenly    Jerusalem  ?  " 

asked  Flossy  of  Tint  on  their 
next  meeting. 

"  No,  indeed,"  replied  the 
Paint  Bogy ;  "  what  ever  put 
that  into  your  head  ? " 

"  Why,  you  said  the  next 
paint  on  your  face  —  I  beg 

/^""^  P?<|  ^°Ur  Par<^0n  '  *  mean  tne  next 

freckle  on  your  palette  —  was 

Naples  Yellow,  and  I  did  n't 

know  why  you  called  it  so." 

"  Let  me  see,"  replied  the  Paint  Bogy,  reflectively, 

dabbling  one  of  his  paint-brush  feet  in  the  color  (the 

performance  giving  him  very  much  the  appearance  of 

scratching  his  cheek  with  his  toes),  "let  me  see;  the 


1 66 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


yellowest  thing  in  Naples,  as  I  remember  it,  was  the 
oranges.    They  grow  everywhere,  and  lie  about  the 


by  some  little  ragamuffin,  with  a  face  like  an  angel, 
and  a  shrill,  insistant  voice,  who  could  not  be  made 
to  understand  that  no  one  wanted  oranges.  Sorry 
enough  is  the  traveller,  on  his  arrival  at  the  summit, 
heated  with  the  climb  and  half  suffocated  with  lava- 
dust,  if  he  has  persisted  in  his  refusal  to  buy.  He 
has  none  of  these  golden,  globular  wine-skins,  only 
waiting  for  his  pumice-sharpened  teeth  to  open  them, 
so  that  they  may  pour  their  delicious  natural  wine 
down  his  choking  throat. 

"  Many  a  little  waif  in  Naples  looks  up  to  the 
orange-trees  as   his  only  parents.     Very  generous, 


streets  in  great  golden 
heaps.  Half-naked  boys 
and  girls  make  their  liv- 


£  ing  by  selling  them,  and 
eat  them  in  their  season 
as  the  cheapest  food. 
Nearly  every  traveller 
who  makes  the  ascent  of 
Mount  Vesuvius  remem- 
bers that  he  was  followed 


NEAPOLITAN  ORANGES. 


167 


indulgent  fathers  and  mothers  they  make.  Al- 
though never  punishing  their  human  children  for 
naughtiness,  they  have  plenty  of  nice,  elastic  shoots 
that  make  excellent  switches.  Like  generous  fathers, 
they  furnish  their  sons  with  capital  upon  which  to 
begin  business;  and,  like  fond,  proud  mothers,  they 
provide  a  bridal-wreath  of  snowy  orange-blossoms  for 
each  of  their  daughters.  Very  lovely  indeed  must  the 
country  around  Vesuvius  have  been  before  the  erup- 
tion. Pliny,  the  celebrated  historian,  used  to  come 
here  often.  It  may  be  that  he  owned  one  of  the 
beautiful  villas  on  the  side  of  the  old  crater,  —  per- 
haps one  called  the  Dovecote,  from  the  number  of 
these  birds  kept  by  its  owner.  If  so,  Caius  Plinius, 
his  young  nephew,  must  have  had  some  very  agree- 
able neighbors  in  the  little  people  of  the  next  villa ; 
for  there  lived  a  daughter  of  the  Emperor  Vespasian 
with  her  little  girl,  pretty  Domitilla.  In  the  same 
home  was  a  young  lad,  also  related  to  the  imperial 
family,  an  orphan  named  Clemens,  or  Clement,  —  a 
thoughtful,  quiet  boy,  loving  and  gentle,  but  brave 
and  fearless,  too.  .  We  will  fancy  that  Caius  Plinius 
did  live  at  the  Dovecote,  and  knew  the  royal  children, 
which  is  very  possible,  for  his  uncle,  Pliny  the  elder, 


1 68 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


was  a  great  friend  of  the  Emperor  Vespasian.  How 
much  they  must  have  enjoyed  strolling  together 
through  the  orange-groves  of  Campagna  Felix !  They 


fed  the  doves,  and  watched 
them  as  they  plumed  their 
feathers  on  the  edge  of  the  basin 
in  which  the  fountain  leaped  and 
splashed,  or  admired  them  drift- 
ing down  from  the  capitals  of 
the  columns  that  lined  the  court 
to  perch  upon  Domitilla's  wrist 
and  shoulders.  Perhaps  some 
of  them  were  trained  to  act  as 
carrier-pigeons  between  the  two 

villas ;  and  the  poems  and  sonnets  of  Caius  Plinius 
must  have  pleased  the  vanity  of  little  Domitilla  better 


NEAPOLITAN  ORANGES. 


1 69 


than  they  did  her  more  serious  cousin.  It  is  possible 
that  frequently  they  acted  together  in  little  dramas 
and  tableaux ;  for  the  Romans  were  very  fond  of 
such  representations,  and  Caius  Plinius  wrote  a  Greek 
tragedy  at  the  age  of  fourteen.  In  those  days  study 
was  considered  good  for  children.  Fond  mammas 
were  not  afraid  that  it  would  injure  their  darlings' 
brains  to  know  their  letters  before  they  were  seven 
years  old.  With  Domitilla  as  little  schoolma'am,  how 
the  two  boys  must  have  tried  to  rival  each  other  in 
their  rhetoric  and  their  Homer !  Neither  of  them 
could  have  spoken  in  after-life  to  more  interested 
audiences  than  when  they  recited  their  poems,  while 
Domitilla  sat  with  her  small  head  poised  critically  a 
little  to  one  side.  '  You  have  not  missed  a  word  in 
the  whole  poem,'  she  said  one  day  to  Caius  Plinius, 
when  he  had  finished  his  declamation ;  '  and  Clement 
changed  whole  lines,  but  the  ones  he  put  in  were  a 
great  deal  better  than  these.'  From  which  we  may 
gather  that,  while  Pliny  was  the  closer  student,  Clem- 
ent proved  the  most  original.  I  have  not  time  to  tell 
you  how  houses  were  built  and  furnished  in  those 
days.  Words  do  not  convey  such  information  so 
clearly  as  pictures.    If  you  love  art,  you  will  learn 


170  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


from  paintings  what  beautiful  surroundings  these 
children  had.  The  next  time  you  turn  over  photo- 
graphs or  engravings  from  the  paintings  of  Coomans 
or  Alma  Tadema,  imagine  that  you  are  looking  at 
Domitilla,  or  at  some  of  her  friends.  Domitilla's 

nurse,  Judith,  was  a  Jewess. 
She  was  a  slave  that  Domi- 
tilla's  uncle,  the  great  gen- 
eral, Titus,  had  sent  home 
with  her  family  from  Judea, 
where  he  was  carrying  on 
the  siege  of  Jerusalem. 
Judith's  family  were  em- 
ployed at  Titus's 
own  villa,  situated 
in  a  plantation  of 


orange-trees  on  one  of  the  hills  to  the  east  of  Vesu- 
vius. Judith  was  a  Christian,  and  she  interested  the 
children  not  only  in  the  Hebrew  legends  of  the  Old 
Testament,  but  also  in  Christ  and  his  blessed  mission. 


NEAPOLITAN  ORANGES. 


171 


What  she  said  must  have  seemed  fresher  and  more 
real" to  the  children  than  your  Sunday-school  lessons 
do  nowadays,  for  Judith's  grandfather  had  often  seen 
Christ  and  was  present  at  his  dreadful  murder.  Clem- 
ent listened  silently,  with  his  eloquent  lips  eagerly 
parted ;  but  Domitilla  would  weep,  or  clap  her  hands, 
exclaiming  that  he  was  more  beautiful  than  Antinous 
or  Apollo,  and  that  when  she  was  a  woman  she  would 
have  a  statue  made  of  him,  and  burn  incense  and 
hang  garlands  before  it.  1  My  Uncle  Titus  will  build 
me  a  temple  for  him,'  she  said, 
4  for  he  likes  the  Jews,  and  would 
not  war  against  them  if  his  father, 
the  emperor,  had  not  placed  him 
in  command  of  -the  army.'  Caius 
Plinius  knew  nothing  of  this  new 
interest,  for  he  had  gone  to  Rome 
to  study  law.  Not  long  after  his 
departure  something  very  won- 
derful and  terrible  happened.  A 
great  cloud  rested  over  Vesuvius, 
and  one  night  a  pillar  of  fire  shot 
up  from  the  crater  to  meet  it,  spreading  out  toward 
the  top,  and  filling  the  cloud  with  myriads  of  sparks, 


172  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 

which  glowed  like  red  and  angry  stars.  This  fearful 
spectacle  was  accompanied  by  unearthly  noises  and  a 
rain  of  ashes.  Judith  was  away  visiting  her  relatives 
at  Titus's  villa;  the  other  servants,  panic-stricken,  fled 

without  attempting  to  pro- 
vide for  the  safety  of  their 
mistress.  When  Domitilla's 
mother  opened  the  outer 
door  she  found  it  nearly 
blocked  with  pieces  of  pum- 
ice-stone and  ashes.  No  one 
responded  to  her  shrieks. 
As  soon  as  the  terrified  lady  understood  that  she, 
Clement,  and  Domitilla  had  been  abandoned  and 
were  being  buried  alive,  she  fainted 'upon  the  thresh- 
old. Clement  turned  deadly  pale.  Suddenly  a  loud 
braying  was  heard  in  the  court,  and  a  dark  object 
advanced.  '  It  is  Stella,  our  donkey,'  cried  Domi- 
tilla ;  '  he  wants  to  die  with  us.'  '  But  we  will  not 
die ! '  exclaimed  Clement.  He  helped  Domitilla  to 
mount,  and  placed  his  aunt  in  front  of  her,  charging 
the  child  to  cling  firmly  while  he  should  lead  the  ani- 
mal. Where  ought  they  to  go  ?  Domitilla  was  in 
favor  of  Pompeii.    '  It  must  be  quite  safe  in  the  city,' 


NEAPOLITAN  ORANGES. 


173 


she  said,  '  there  are  so  many  people  there.'  But 
Clement  hesitated.  An  awful  light  from  the  burn- 
ing mountain  illumined  the  sky ;  they  could  see  quite 
plainly,  though  it  was  midnight.  Over  their  heads 
flocks  of  birds  were  continually  passing  with  a  whirr- 
ing noise.  '  They  are  Pliny's  doves  ! '  said  Clement ; 
'  the  birds  are  wiser  than  we :  they  seek  some  place 
of  safety,  and  we  will  follow  them.'  Straight  through 
the  air  shot  the  doves ;  as  rapidly  as  possible  the  little 
fugitives  followed  them  on,  on  towards  the  orange- 
groves  of  Titus.  Caius  Plinius  himself  was  not  very 
far  away.  He  had  come  in  the  fleet  commanded  by 
his  uncle  to  Misenum,  on  the  seacoast.  Pliny  ex- 
pressed his  intention  of  making  a  nearer  observation 
of  the  curious  phenomenon,  and  gave  Caius  permis- 
sion to  accompany  him.  The  boy,  having  no  concep- 
tion of  its  awful  importance,  replied  that  he  would 
rather  not  waste  his  time  in  sight-seeing,  as  he  was 
very  much  interested  in  his  studies.  Pliny  the  elder 
perished  from  his  scientific  curiosity  and  his  philan- 
thropic effort  to  save  those  dwelling  near  the  volcano. 
While  he  was  making  a  vain  effort  to  reach  them,  his 
doves  darted  on,  leading  the  children  out  of  harm's 
way.    The  orange-trees  hung  out  their  flame-reflect- 


174 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


ing  globes  like  signal-lanterns,  and  welcomed  the 
weary  doves  to  rest  upon  their  branches,  safe  at  last. 
Judith,  faithful  nurse,  folded  the  children  in  her  lov- 
ing arms.  Like  Lot  and  his  daughters  from  the  hills 
of  Zoar,  they  saw  the  fiery  shower  fall  upon  the 
Cities  of  the  Plain,  but  they  were  safe." 

"  O,  I  am  so  glad ! "  exclaimed  Flossy  with  a  lit- 
tle gasp  ;  "  I  was  afraid  it  might  be  another  Babes 
in  the  Wood  story,  and  that  the  mosaic  of  Pliny's 
doves  would  be  found  in  the  villa  hundreds  of  years 
later,  —  a  sort  of  tombstone  for  them." 

"  Domitilla  lived  to  be  a  very  old  woman,"  re- 
plied Tint ;  "  and  the  only  inscription  above  her 
tomb  was  a  dove.  It  happened  in  this  way:  she 
was  one  of  the  early  martyrs,  and  died  in  the  cata- 
combs. The  dove  was  the  symbol  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  —  an  emblem  common  in  that  burying-place 
of  the  first  Roman  Christians.  These  children,  like 
the  Babes  in  the  Wood,  had  a  cruel  uncle,  whose 
name  was  Domitian ;  he  became  emperor  after  the 
death  of  the  humane  Titus.  They  lived  to  grow 
up  and  were  married.  Clement,  for  a  time,  was 
successful  in  his  open  advocacy  of  Christianity,  be- 
coming the  third  Bishop  of  Rome ;  but  when  Domi- 


NEAPOLITAN  ORANGES. 


175 


tian  came  to  the  throne  he  caused  Clement  to  be 
slain,  and  banished  Domitilla.  His  real  reason  for 
this  cruelty  was  that  they  belonged  to  the  royal 
family,  and  might  seek  his  death;  the  charge  pre- 
ferred was  that  of 
'  Atheism  and  Jewish 
manners.'  Caius  Plin- 
ius  became  a  provincial 
governor.  It  was  part 
of  his  official  duty  to 
persecute  the  Christians. 
He  was  so  lax  in  the 
performance  of  this  duty 
that,  while  he  had  the 
reputation  among  the 
Christians  of  being  '  as 
wise  as  a  serpent,'  they 
acknowledged  his  obe- 
dience to  our  Lord's 
commandment  in  that 
he  was  also  'as  harm- 
less as  a  dove.'  If  you 
should  go  to-day  and  search  for  the  site  of  the 
Dovecote  and  of  the  other  villa,  where  the  chil- 


176 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


dren  played  together,  I  doubt  if  you  could  find 
any  trace  of  them.  But  Vesuvius  is  still  there, 
in  spite  of  Hilary  O'Hollogan's  opinion  (expressed 
in  her  quaint  brogue,  which  for  once  approached 
correct  terms),  that  they  'ought  to  put  the  crater 
out'  Mr.  Howells  describes  the  volcano  of  to-day 
as  though  it  were  an  Indian  chief,  —  'his  brown 
mantle  of  ashes  drawn  close  about  his  throat,  re- 
clining on  the  plain,  and  smoking  a  bland  and 
thoughtful  morning  pipe,  of  which  the  silver  fumes 
curl  lightly  upward  in  the  sunrise.' " 


YELLOW  OCHRE. 


YELLOW  OCHRE. 

GOLD  AND  GLORY. 

ELLOW  typifies  the  goodness 
of  God,  and  fruitfulness,"  said 
Flossy,  looking  up  from  a  book 
of  symbols;  "but  what  does 
Ochre  mean?"  Tint  had  just 
told  her  the  name  of  the  next 
freckle  upon  his  cheek. 

"  Earth,"  replied  Tint ;  "  and 
Yellow  Ochre  is  yellow  earth." 

"  But  I  thought  earth  was 
dirt,"  said  Flossy,  in  a  puzzled 
way ;  "  and  dirt  is  mud-color,  or 
dust-color,  and  who  ever  heard 
of  yellow  mud,  or  yellow  —  but 
yes,  why,  of  course !  I  did  n't 
think  of  gold-dust.  Can  they  paint  with  gold,  Tint?" 
Tint  pointed  by  way  of  answer  to  two  small  paint- 


i8o 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


ings  in  fanciful  gilt-frames,  neither  square  nor  round 

nor  oval,  but  what 
Flossy  would  have 
called  "church- 
shaped,"  narrow-point- 
ed arches,  tipped  with 
a  number  of  little 
spires  and  pinnacles. 
The  pictures  them- 
selves were  no  less  re- 
markable. One  repre- 
sented a  very  lovely 
angel  playing,  not  up- 
on a  harp  but  upon  a 
fiddle,  —  antique  in 
shape,  but  a  real  vio- 
lin, better  fitted,  one 
would  think,  for  the 
dancing-school  than 
for  heaven.  The  other 
picture  was  an  angel, 
too,  with  a  beautiful 
face,  waving  yellow 
hair,  and  a  flowing  robe.    Contrary  to  Flossy's  ideas 


GOLD  AND  GLORY. 


l8l 


of  fashionable  styles  among  angels,  this  garment  was 
not  white,  but  brilliant  red;  the  angels  wings, 
too,  were  different  from  those  in  grandma's  Illus- 
trated Family  Bible ;  nor  did  they  resemble  any 
of  the  pictures  in  Sunday-school  books.  They  were 
not  soft  and  downy,  like  the  tissue-paper  ones  which 
she  had  herself  worn  when  representing  an  angel, 
in  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  tableaux.  These  were  daz- 
zling in  color,  and  seemed  to  be  composed  of  pea- 
cock's feathers !  The  angel  was  blowing  a  twisted 
trumpet,  very  much  like  Mr.  Puffindorf's,  who  played 
in  an  orchestra  at  some  theatre,  and  boarded  in 
one  of  those  poor-looking  houses  that  came  square 
up  against  their  alley.  Flossy  had  often  watched 
him  from  the  upper  back  entry  window,  as  he  held 
what  he  thought  was  a  strictly  private  rehearsal  of 
his  evening  music.  His  instrument  seemed  to  be 
jointed,  and  it  lengthened  or  shut  up  like  a  tele- 
scope, as  he  moved  his  hand  back  and  forward. 
Sometimes  his  friend,  Mr.  Scrapenberg,  practised 
with  him  upon  a  great  violoncello  which  resembled 
a  long-necked  ostrich.  When  Mr.  Scrapenberg 
played  he  seemed  to  be  in  deadly  combat  with  this 
ostrich,  and  only  succeeded  in  throttling  it  during 


182 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


the  final  movement.  That  is  neither  here  nor  there, 
its  only  bearing  on  the  present  case  being  that  this 
recollection  made  Flossy  wonder  whether  the  angel 
could  lengthen  and  shut  up  his  trumpet  at  will. 
The  background  of  the  picture  seemed  to  be  of 
beaten  gold.  The  "  church-shaped "  frame  had  two 
doors,  which  were  open  now,  but  might  be  closed 
and  locked,  thus  concealing  the  picture,  and  show- 
ing that  it  was  considered  very  precious. 

"  There  does  seem 
to  be  gold  enough 
in  that  picture,"  said 
Flossy,  reverting  to 
the  question  which 
she  had  asked. 

"  The  early  Floren- 
tine painters  always 
depicted  in  gold  the 
glories  about  their 
saints  and  angels,  and 
sometimes  the  entire 
background  of  their 
religious  pictures  was  of  the  same  color,",  explained 
Tint.  "  That  is  a  copy  of  a  painting  by  Fra  An- 
gelico;  it  is  called  the  Red  Trumpet." 


GOLD  AND  GLORY. 


183 


"Who  was  Fra  Angelico?"  asked  Flossy. 

"  He  was  a  holy  monk  who  was  born  at  Fiesole, 
and  belonged  to  the  convent  of  St.  Mark  in  Flor- 
ence ;  there  he  spent  his  life,  painting  his  visions, 
which  were  always  very  sweet  and  lovely.  He  filled 
the  missals  and  choral-books  of  the  convent  with 
exquisite  illuminations.  He  covered  the  reliquaries 
of  the  sacristy,  the  panels  of  the  vestry,  every 
room,  and  space  wherever  a  cupboard  showed  its 
wooden  door,  with  glorified  saints  bearing  palm- 
branches,  arrayed  in  tints  at  the  same  time  delicate 
and  vivid.  These  pictured  saints  have  been  cut 
from  the  rude  pieces  of  furniture  bearing  them,  and 
made  altar-pieces  in  cathedrals,  or  choicest  panel- 
pictures  in  celebrated  galleries.  Fra  Angelico  lined 
the  convent  corridors  with  fresco  pictures  of  angels  in 
procession,  which,  says  one  critic,  'hover  through  the 
air  as  if  they  were  all  one  long  outstretched  cloud, 
the  very  sight  of  which  fills  us  with  longing.'  The 
walls  of  the  monastery  chapels,  of  the  passages,  and 
even  of  the  low  cells  are  covered  with  his  paint- 
ings, which  are  scarcely  to  be  numbered.  There 
was  nothing  gloomy  or  sad  about  his  religion.  In 
one  of  his  pictures  the  angels  are  engaged  in  a 


184  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 

heavenly  concert,  playing  not  only  on  harps  and 
trumpets,  but  also  on  guitars,  tambourines,  violins, 
and  bass-viols.  Wondrously  has  he  portrayed  the 
divine  rapture  of  angels  by  faces  which  shine  with 
immortal  joy,  purity,  and  love.  He  has  taken  the 
highest  seat  among  the  artists  of  all  time.  Yet 
we  are  told  that  this  obscure  monk  never  labored 
for  ambition ;  only  when  called  to  Rome  by  the 
command  of  the  Pope  did  he  leave  his  convent. 
While  painting  there  in  the  Vatican,  a  position  of 
great  dignity  and  importance  was  assigned  him  in 
the  church,  which  he  declined  from  sheer  humility. 
Because  he  was  so  holy  in  his  life,  perhaps,  too, 
from  the  serene  delight  of  the  faces  painted  after 
his  pure  ideals,  he  received  the  name  of  II  Beato, 
or  the  Blessed.  He  did  not  paint  for  money.  When 
gold  was  given  him  he  employed  it  in  the  glories 
about  the  heads  of  his  pictured  saints,  and  in  the 
gorgeous  backgrounds,  which  may  have  stood  for 
the  gates  and  streets  of  the  golden  city.  He  would 
have  been  surprised,  and  perhaps  not  very  much 
pleased,  had  he  been  told  that  '  while  seeking  only 
the  glory  of  God,  he  was  earning  an  immortal  glory 
among  men.'  " 


GOLD  AND  GLORY. 


185 


Flossy  sighed.  "  I  wish  I  could  do  something 
grand,  or  heroic,  or  beautiful,  —  or  something  !  " 

Tint  smiled,  and  nodded  encouragingly,  and  Flossy 
went  on.  "  Something,  I  mean,  which  would  make 
me  famous  forever."  Tint  threw  down  his  hands 
with  such  a  vigorous  gesture  of  despair  that  the 
two  jointed  rulers  detached  themselves  from  his 
color-bag  body,  and  fell  to  the  floor  with  a  bang, 
while  Caricature  stood  on  her  head  and  laughed. 

"  You  are  just  like  little  Tommy  Thompson," 
said  she. 

"  Who  was  Tommy  Thompson  ?  "  asked  Flossy, 
growing  angry,  she  hardly  knew  why. 

"  He  was  a  young  gold  miner  at  Shoreditch,  Cali- 
fornia," replied  Carrie.  "That  is,Jiis  father  had  been  a 
gold  miner,  and  was  one  of  five  who  owned  the  Shore- 
ditch  Gulches.  This  mine 
gave  hope  at  first  of  mak- 
ing them  all  rich,  but  it 
ignominiously  failed  them 
in  less  than  six  months.  Mr.  Thompson  was  so 
much  disappointed  that  he  immediately  shot  him- 
self, never  thinking  what  would  become  of  six 
children  should  his  wife  seek  the  same  solution  of 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


the  difficulty.  But  Mrs.  Thompson  bore  up  under 
her  troubles  like  a  man  —  I  beg  pardon  —  like  a 
woman,  and  had  no  notion  of  giving  up.  During 
the  hopeful  days  of  gulch-life  she  had  kept  boarders 
in  the  only  frame  building  belonging  to  the  settle- 
ment. One  long  unplastered  upper  room  consti- 
tuted the  chambers.  Travellers  were  accommodated 
with  half  a  bed,  and  one  twenty-fourth  share  of  the 


tin  wash-basin,  at  first-class  Astor  House  or  St. 
Nicholas  prices.  Mrs.  Thompson  was  not  left  alto- 
gether penniless ;  she  had  put  by  a  very  little  store 
of  money,  of  the  existence  of  which  she  had,  for 
prudential  reasons,  never  informed  her  husband. 
Remaining  longer  in  a  mansion  rented   at  thirty 


GOLD  AND  GLORY. 


I87 


dollars  a  week,  when  the  boarding-public  had  all 
'folded  their  tents  like  the  Arabs,  and  as  silently 
stolen  away,'  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  One  of 
the  partners,  having  nothing  else  wherewith  to  pay 
his  board-bill,  gave  Mrs.  Thompson  his  share  in  the 
mine,  so  that  she  now  owned  two  fifths  of  the  whole. 
The  bar-keeper,  who  was  another  shareholder,  and 
looked  upon  as  the  wealthiest  man  in  the  region, 
was  shot  and  robbed  by  some  disappointed  adven- 
turers. His  diamond  studs  were  cut  from  his  shirt- 
bosom  and  taken  with  all  his  other  valuables ;  but 
the  murderers  had  not  thought  it  worth  while  to 
carry  away  his  shares  in  the  Shoreditch  Gulches. 
No  relatives  could  be  found  to  take  his  claim,  so 
the  company  organized  on  a  new  basis.  Mrs. 
Thompson  found  herself  rightful  possessor  of  one 
half  the  stock;  the  other  two  partners  separated, 
one  to  try  his  fortune  as  a  drover  in  Southern 
California,  and  the  other  to  return  to  a  dry-goods 
clerkship  in  the  East.  The  unsuccessful  miner  who 
adopted  the  profession  of  drover  invited  Tommy 
Thompson  to  go  with  him  and  share  the  trials  and 
profits  of  an  expedition.  This  offer  was  contemptu- 
ously rejected  by  Tommy,  who  had  set  his  heart 


i88 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


upon  a  more  ambitious  career:  he  had  determined 
to  be  an  artist !  His  attention  had  been  turned  to 
Art  in  his  native  village,  before  coming  to  Califor- 
nia, by  the  daring  flights  of  an  imaginative  sign- 
painter. 

"  Tommy  admired  the  man  as  well  as  his  profes- 
sion, and  spent  many  hours  among  his  paint-kegs, 
watching  the  elaborate  decoration  which  he  lavished 
on  Farmer  Hayfork's  wagon,  and  his  ornamentation 
of  Miss  Truepenny's  parlor-chairs.  They  had  be- 
longed to  her  grandmother,  and  were  made  of  wood 
strong  enough  to  last  another  hundred  years,  but 
the  paint  was  considerably  worn.  These  chairs 
were  the  sign-painter's  chef-d'oeuvre.  On  the  back 
of  each  was  a  different  flower  or  bird ;  Tommy 
thought  he  had  never  seen  anything  so  beautiful. 
When  the  family  went  to  California  the  painter 
gave  Tommy  a  small  collection  of  paints  and  brushes, 
neatly  put  up  in  an  oyster-can,  and  with  them  a 
few  rules  for  landscape  and  flower-painting.  These 
directions,  if  carried  out  faithfully,  might  enable  him 
some  day  to  achieve  such  masterpieces  as  usually 
decorate  omnibuses.  Once  at  Shoreditch,  Tommy 
had  met  a  real  artist,  very  different  from  the  sign- 


GOLD  AND  GLORY. 


painter.  He  carried  his  canvases  and  color-box 
strapped  upon  his  back,  together  with  a  quantity 
of  mysterious  umbrellas  and  canes.  The  inhabi- 
tants of  Shoreditch  at  first  took  him  for  a  Jew  ped- 
ler;  next  they  were  sure  he  was  an  umbrella- 
mender.      When   he    showed   them   his  canvases, 


miration.  He  came  across  Tommy  Thompson,  Giotto- 
like, herding  some  very  thin,  slab-sided  cows.  The 
stranger  shook  his  cane  out  into  a  camp-stool,  seated 


190  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 

himself,  and  began  to  sketch.  Tommy  drew  near, 
and  criticised  the  picture  upon  which  he  was  en- 
gaged. The  gentleman  listened  good-humoredly,  and 
at  last  asked,  '  Would  you  like  to  be  an  artist 
some  day  ? ' 

" '  I  am  one,'  replied  Tommy,  with  sublime  impu- 
dence. 

"  The  artist  smiled.  1  Will  you  show  me  some  of 
your  pictures  ? ' 

" '  Yes,'  replied  Tommy,  eagerly,  '  if  you  '11  mind 
them  cows  while  I 'm  gone.  You 'd  better  keep 
an  eye  on  Surveyor,  though,  she 's  a  master  hand 
at  straying  away,  and  perhaps  you  '11  have  to  pack 
up  them  traps  of  yours,  for  Grumpus,  that  little  red 
heifer  there,  is  mighty  suspicious  of  strangers  ;  reckon 
she  might  think  you  was  a  butcher  in  disguise.' 
Tommy  was  back  in  a  few  minutes,  bearing  what 
he  supposed  to  be  a  very  remarkable  piece  of 
work.  Like  Raphael's  Madonna  Delia  Seggiola,  it 
was  executed  upon  a  barrel-head,  but  unlike  the  Ma- 
donna, it  was  an  outrageous  daub.  The  artist  smiled 
when  he  saw  it.  '  You  need  study,  my  boy,'  he  said 
kindly.  '  Art  is  long,  and  one  can't  be  an  artist  all 
at  once.    If  you  decide  to  apply  yourself  seriously  to 


GOLD  AND  GLORY. 


I9I 


its  study,  and  ever  come  East,  be  sure  to  call  on  me, 
and  I  will  help  you  all  I  can.    Here  is  my  card.' 

"The  Thompsons  left  Shoreditch,  and  Mrs.  Thomp- 
son, with  her  faithful  Chinese  servant,  Tang  Gee, 
established  herself  at  Bonanza  City.  There  she  ap- 
peared in  the  double  capacity  of  laun- 
dress and  frier  of  doughnuts;  the 
latter  were  carried  to  the  railroad-sta- 
tion by  Bobby  and  Sally,  where  they 
found  a  ready  sale.  Tang  Gee  re- 
fused to  leave  his  mistress ;  a  decision 
not  altogether  disinterested,  for  he 
had  tried  without  success  to  obtain 
work  in  every  quarter.  Tommy,  like 
a  second  prodigal  son,  asked  for  his 
portion  of  the  family  estate,  and  an- 
nounced his  intention  to  go  East,  find 
the  friendly  artist,  and  start  upon  his 
chosen  career. 

"  '  Gold ! '  he  exclaimed,  with  sublime  scorn  ;  '  I 
despise  it;  I  don't  care  if  the  Shoreditch  Gulches 
did  fail ;  I  am  glad  of  it !  Let  me  go,  mother ;  I 
seek  something  better  than  gold.    Glory  calls  me.' 

"  This   speech   had   an   immense   effect   on  the 


192 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


younger  Thompsons,  who  maintained,  whenever  they 
were  asked  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  their  brother, 
that  he  had  gone  to  Glory.  Mrs.  Thompson  be- 
lieved in  her  son,  and,  instead  of  giving  him  only 
his  share,  consigned  to  him  half  her  ready  money; 
after  the  purchase  of  a  ticket  to  New  York  the 
young  man  had  just  fifteen  dollars.  The  artist, 
when  he  heard  Tommy's  story,  out  of  sheer  pity 
for  the  boy,  feeling  that  he  was  partly  to  blame  for 
this  enterprise,  took  him  into  his 
home,  and  in  return  for  the  care 
of  his  studio  made  him  a  member 
of  a  class  in  drawing,  of  which  he 
was  the  teacher.  Tommy  worked 
faithfully,  but  he  made  slow  prog- 
ress. None  of  his  pictures  gave 
him  the  same  satisfaction  that  his 
barrel-head  masterpiece  had ;  little 
by  little  it  was  borne  in  upon  his 
dull  mind  that  he  had  mistaken 
his  vocation,  and  really  possessed 
no  artistic  talent.  Still  he  strug- 
gled doggedly  on  with  difficulties  concerning  which 
the  sign-painter  had  never  warned  him.    For  three 


GOLD  AND  GLORY. 


193 


years  he  occupied  the  same  place,  alternately  smear- 
ing a  wretched  copy  of  a  plaster-cast  with  crayon- 
dust,  and  then  rubbing  it  in  a  frantic  energy  of 
despair  over  his  own  face. 

"  At  length  his  artist  friend  felt  it  a  duty  to  tell 
him  in  all  kindness  that  he  did  not  think  he  would 
ever  succeed.  The  information  had  a  very  different 
effect  from  the  one  anticipated;  a  gleam  of  delight 
lit  up  the  boy's  face.  1 1  am  so  glad ! '  he  exclaimed ; 
'  I  have  been  thinking  so,  myself,  for  a  long  time, 
but  I  was  afraid  I  was  only  tired  of  the  work,  and 
that  it  was  in  me  if  I  only  tried  hard  enough. 
Now  I  can  go  back  and  be  a  miner  again ;  I  shall 
be  satisfied,  too,  for  I  shan't  be  thinking  all  the 
time  that  I  was  made  for  something  better.' 

" '  My  dear  boy,'  said  his  friend,  4 1  admire  your 
pluck.  You  shall  not  go  home  empty-handed,  or 
rather  empty-headed.  You  came  here  under  the 
influence  of  a  mistake,  caused  partly  by  my  influ- 
ence ;  I  ought  to  have  discouraged  you  at  Shore- 
ditch.  I  will  help  you  to  something  useful  out 
there.  Which  would  you  rather  be,  an  assayer  of 
metals  or  a  surveyor?'  Tommy  chose  the  former 
occupation,  was  helped  by  his  friend  to  a  practical 


194  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


course  in  chemistry,  and,  returning  to  California,  ob- 
tained lucrative  employment  in  a  mining  region. 
Very  little  of  his  salary,  however,  was  spent  upon 
himself ;  he  saw  now  the  selfishness  which  had  in- 
duced him  to  desert  his  family  during  their  long 
struggle  with  poverty,  and  he  determined,  if  possi- 
ble, to  make  amends.  He  sent  his  sisters  to  school 
in  the  East,  and  supported  his  mother,  keeping  her 
always  near  him  with  a  jealous  care,  as  though  he 
had  spared  her  too  long.  The  gold  which  he  once 
spurned  so  haughtily  was  welcomed  thankfully,  now 
he  saw  that  rightly  used  it  was  a  great  means  of 
doing  good.  He  worked  for  it  with  such  unremit- 
ting industry  that  his  mother  feared,  with  good  rea- 
son, for  his  health.  It  broke  down  at  last ;  even  an 
iron  constitution  could  not  have  sustained  such  a 
continued  strain.  He  succumbed  to  a  severe  and 
dangerous  illness.  Tommy  did  not  die,  but  it  was 
evident  that  he  could  never  work  again  as  he  had. 
When  this  was  told  him,  bitter  tears  welled  up  into 
his  eyes.  'I  would  rather  have  died,'  he  said;  'we 
were  living  so  comfortably,  and  now  to  give,  up 
everything  and  be  a  burden  to  you,  and  to  have 
you  go  back  to  the  old  hard  life  again,  it  is  too 


GOLD  AND  GLORY. 


195 


much.'  During  his  convalescence,  which  could  hardly 
be  distinguished  from  a  decline,  it  was  so  very  slow, 
and  he  so  weak  and  spent,  his  eye  fell  upon  a  dried- 
up  rose-bush  which  stood  in  a  flower-pot  in  the 
window.  '  Why  do  you  keep  that  withered  thing  ? ' 
he  asked.  '  Do  you  not  see  that  it  is  quite  dead, 
and  as  useless  as  I  am  ? ' 

" '  I  know  it,'  replied  his  mother ;  4  but  Sally 
brought  it  from  Shoreditch.  Somehow  with  all  our 
care  the  flower  would  not  live,  but  Sally  kept  it 
because  it  came  from  home ;  when  she  went  to 
boarding-school  I  kept  it  because  she  set  such  a 
store  by  it.  But  perhaps  it  has  stayed  there  long 
enough,  and  I  will  throw  it  away  if  it  vexes  you.' 

" '  Let  me  see  it  first,'  said  Tommy.  '  I  will  look 
at  the  root,  and  see  if  there  is  any  sign  of  life.' 
The  bush  let  go  its  hold  on  the  earth  without  re- 
sistance. Tommy  was  handing  the  flower-pot  back 
to  his  mother  when  something  in  the  appearance 
of  the  dust  struck  him;  he  uttered  an  exclamation 
of  surprise,  then  asked  for  a  test-tube  and  a  few 
bottles  from  his  shelf  of  chemicals.  '  Where  did 
this  earth  come  from  ? '  he  asked. 

" '  O,  I  don't  know ;  from  the  garden,  I  suppose,' 


196  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 

replied  his  mother,  carelessly ;  then  as  she  remem- 
bered the  events  of  the  past  more  clearly,  '  but  I 
do  know.  I  remember  that  Sallie  ran  down  to  the 
creek  back  of  our  house,  and  filled  the  flower-pot 
with  mud.  She  thought  the  soil 
was  richer  there.' 

'"Rich!  I  should  think  so,'  al- 
most shrieked  Tommy.  '  No  won- 
der the  poor  rose  died;  mother,  it 
is  gold-dust ! ' 

"  Mother  and  son  revisited  their 
old  home  together.  By  the  aid  of 
such  knowledge  of  geology  and 
chemistry  as  he  had  acquired  in 
the  East,  the  mischievous  vein  of 
gold,  which  had  played  at  hide-and- 
seek  with  the  miners,  was  tracked 
and  found.  They  were  half  owners 
in  an  exceptionally  rich  mine.  Tommy  did  not  live 
long  to  enjoy  it,  but  he  saw  some  of  its  effects ;  Bob- 
by, after  a  course  at  Yale  and  in  Geneva,  became 
an  eloquent  and  devoted  minister;  Sally,  at  Paris, 
succeeded  in  the  path  where  Tommy  had  failed, 
and  won  the  reputation  of  a  rising  and  talented 


GOLD  AND  GLORY. 


197 


artist;  Molly,  who  had  always  something  of  the 
goody-goody  about  her,  endowed  an  orphan  asylum, 
and  entered  it  as  matron;  wild  little  Maggie,  who 
was  just  the  reverse  of  Molly  in  everything,  became, 
as  the  wife  of  a  Western  senator,  a  leader  in  Wash- 
ington society,  leading  in  the  right  direction,  too, 
as  a  general  thing;  little  Bill  studied  in  Germany, 
evincing  marked  talent  as  a  musician, 
a  taste  which  had  at  first  shown  itself 
in  his  determination  to  run  away  with 
a  hand-organ  man ;  Mrs.  Thompson 
wore  nice  lace  caps,  al- 
ways looking  perfectly  la- 


dy-like and  happy;  Tang 


Gee  became  Tommy's  body-servant,  silent  but  de- 
voted, driving  his  master  about  the  country  every 
day  in  a  low  phaeton.  It  was  one  of  Tommy's  lit- 
tle jokes  to  pretend  to  be  a  doctor,  and  to  insist 


198  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 

on  prescribing  for  all  the  poor  people  in  a  radius 
of  ten  miles  about  Shoreditch.  No  matter  what  the 
disease,  the  prescription  was  always  the  same ;  a 
homoeopathic  vial  filled  with  gold-dust  was  the  medi- 
cine, always  delivered  by  himself.  The  people  felt 
sure  that  he  was  a  minister,  though  of  what  de- 
nomination remained  undecided.  They  treated  with 
sublime  scorn  the  suggestion  of  one  illiterate  indi- 
vidual who  thought  that  he  might  be  only  an  ex- 
hauster, 

"  At  length  there  came  a  day  when  Tang  Gee's 
devotion  was  no  longer  needed.  The  poor  China- 
man was  asked  why  his  master  came  no  more ;  he 
shook  his  head  sadly,  and  replied,  '  Too  muchee 
religion  no  good  for  Melican  man,  he  all  the  same 
gone  to  Glory ! '    And  so  he  had. 

"  He  found,  with  Fra  Angelico,  the  answer  to  the 
question  asked  by  many  an  aspirant  for  fame, — 

1  What  shall  I  do  to  be  forever  known  ? 
Thy  duty  ever. 

This  did  full  many  who  yet  sleep  unknown. 
O,  never,  never ! 

Think'st  thou  perchance  that  they  remain  unknown, 
Whom  thou  know'st  not? 

By  angel  trumps  in  heaven  their  praise  is  blown, 
Divine  their  lot.' " 


IAW  SIENNA 


RAW  SIENNA. 

FRESCO-CHRISTIANS  AND  FRESCO-BANDITS. 

IT  seemed  funny 
enough,"  said 
Flossy,  in  reply 
to  a  remark  with 
which  Tint  began 
their  conversation,  "to  think 
that  they  painted  with  stones 
and  gold  ;  but  plastering,  — 
the  idea  of  painting  with 
that  is  too  absurd." 

"You  must  have  forgot- 
ten, I  think,  our  talk  on 
Venetian  Red  and  how  frescos  are  painted,"  said 
Tint ;  "  it  was  Michael  Angelos  favorite  method. 
All  frescos,  however,  are  not  painted  in  his  wTay,  — 
putting  the  colors  upon  the  wet  plaster ;  some  frescos 
are  merely  painted  upon  the  smooth  surface  of  a  dry 


202 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


wall  or  ceiling.  This  latter  method  Michael  Angelo 
regarded  with  scorn,  saying  that  it  and  oil-painting 
were  fit  only  for  women.  Michael  Angelo  may  well 
enough  be  called  the  greatest  of  painters,  in  contrast 
with  Raphael,  who  is  the  tenderest  and  most  charm- 
ing. He  delighted  in  colossal  subjects,  treated  in  a 
grand,  gigantic  way.  He  could  bear  nothing  little  or 
mean  in  either  art  or  character.  No  canvas  was  large 
enough  for  his  mighty  conceptions ;  so  they  were 
spread  over  the  walls  of  great  halls,  and  seemed 
crowded  in  the  vastest  of  domes.  Michael  Angelo  is 
the  king  of  fresco-painting,  though  nearly  all  of  the 
early  Italian  painters  were  familiar  with  this  kind  of 
work,  and  have  left  beautiful  examples  of  it.  Fra 
Angelico,  as  I  have  told  you,  bequeathed  some,  filled 
with  heavenly  beauty.  Raphael  decorated  the  Sistine 
Chapel  in  the  same  way.  The  principal  paintings  of 
the  Venetian  school,  and  Leonardo  da  Vinci's  most 
celebrated  picture,  The  Last  Supper,  are  frescos. 
There  are  some  beautiful  fresco-paintings  of  children, 
in  Parma,  by  Correggio.  These  pictures  could  not 
be  removed  from  the  houses  where  they  were  placed  ; 
they  suffered  in  consequence  by  whatever  calamities 
of  fire  or  dilapidation  occurred  to  the  houses,  and 


IT 

0 

FRESCO-CHRISTIANS  AND  FRESCO-BANDITS.  203 

most  cruelly  of  all  in  the  repairs  that  time  brought 
about.  Giotto,  one  of  the  earliest  of  the  Italian 
painters,  was  peculiarly  unfortunate  in  having  many 
of  his  beautiful  frescos  repainted  by  the  order  of  stu- 
pid priests.  They  thought  that  the  time-darkened 
paintings  made  the  churches  look  shabby,  and  pre- 
ferred the  cheap  brightness  of  gaudy,  tasteless  deco- 
rations to  the  mellow  gloom  of  the  old  masterpieces. 

"  The  story  I  am  to  tell  you  to-day  is  about  one  of 
these  frescos.  It  might  have  happened  in  Florence 
or  Naples,  for  Giotto  painted  in  these  and  other  Ital- 
ian cities ;  but  it  sometimes  spoils  a  story  to  tell  ex- 
actly where  it  took  place.  Suppose  I  begin  in  this 
way:  Once  upon  a  time  there  lived  in  the  city  of 
Sienna  a  boy  named  Giacomo  (Italian  for  Jack). 
Jack  was  the  son  of  an  Italian  maker  of  cheeses. 
The  cheese-factory  had  formerly  been  the  refectory  of 
a  monastery,  for  a  long  time  given  up  to  worldly  uses 
and  almost  entirely  demolished.  Under  the  white- 
wash that  covered  the  walls  of  the  refectory,  which 
was  now  a  cheese-factory,  which  belonged  to  the 
father  who  had  a  boy  whose  name  was  Giacomo, 
which  is  Italian  for  Jack  (all  of  which  has  a  remote 
resemblance  to  the  ancient  legend  of  '  The  House  that 


204  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 

Jack  Built'),  there  was  hidden  away,  not  a  sack  of 
malt,  but  a  beautiful  fresco  painted  by  Giotto.  When 
I  say  that  all  this  happened  in  the  town  of  Sienna, 
you  must  simply  understand  that  it  might  have  hap- 
pened there.  I  am  not  sure  but  that  it  took  place  in 
Florence  or  Naples  instead.  I  am  not  sure  that  it 
really  ever  happened  in  any  city.  I  choose  the  name 
Sienna  simply  because  it  happens  to  be  tucked  on  to 


the  next  frec- 


~  ~  ~  scrape  as  the 

poet  Rogers  did.  You  know  he  said  in  his  poem  of 
'Ginevra,' — 

m 

"  '  If  ever  you  should  come  to  Modena, 


Stop  at  a  palace  near  the  Reggio  gate, 
Dwelt  in  of  old  by  one  of  the  Orsini. 
Enter  the  house,  —  forget  it  not,  I  pray, — 
And  look  awhile  upon  a  picture  there, 
Done  by  Zampieri.' 


FRESCO-CHRISTIANS  AND  FRESCO-BA NDITS. %  205 


"  Now  the  facts  are :  firstly,  the  portrait  of  Ginevra, 
by  Zampieri  (whose  other  name  was  Domenichino), 
does  not  hang  in  any  palace  in  Modena ;  secondly, 
Zampieri  never  painted  any  portrait  of  Ginevra ;  and, 
thirdly,  grave  doubts  are  entertained  by  antiquarians 
as  to  whether  any  such  lady  as  Ginevra  ever  lived. 
Now  the  '  secondly  '  and  '  thirdly  '  are  of  no  particular 
importance,  so  far  as  concerns  the  story,  if  only  Mr. 
Rogers  had  not  said  that  the  portrait  was  in  Modena, 
or  if  he  had  said  that  it  might  have  been  in  Modena, 
or  perhaps  it  was  Parma,  or  possibly  Ferrara,  or  that 
there  were  authorities  who  claimed  a  probability  of  its 
being  at  Bologna,  and  had  then  put  a  little  star  at 
the  end  of  the  statement,  referring  to  a  foot-note,  in 
which  he  might  have  said  :  '  This  picture  was  carried 
out  of  Italy  by  King  Something-or-other,  after  the 
Battle  of  What's-his-name.'  If  he  had  done  this,  why 
then  all  the  English-speaking  and  English-reading 
tourists  who  visit  Modena  would  not  be  rushing 
about,  inquiring  frantically  of  every  valet-de-place  and 
guide  for  the  palace  near  the  Reggio  gate  containing 
the  celebrated  portrait  of  Ginevra,  by  Domenichino. 
Now,  Flossy  Tangleskein  and  Ruby  Rose,  I  will  go 
back  to  my  story  of  Giacomo  and  the  fresco,  if  you 


206  * 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


will  promise  that  when  you  go  to  Sienna  you  will  not 
hunt  after  the  old  refectory.  Not  that  the  place  is 
destitute  of  interesting  subjects  for  art-stories.  Here 
Vanni  lived,  who  painted  the  funny  little  Christ-child, 
swaddled  like  an  Indian  papoose,  with  the  coral  brace- 
let on  his  chubby  arm ;  and  Simone  Martini,  a  cele- 
brated artist,  who  painted  a  portrait  of  Laura  Petrarch, 
—  I  mean  of  the  Laura  who,  if  she  had  been  Mrs. 
Petrarch,  would  never  have  had  those  beautiful  son- 
nets written  about  her ;  on  the  contrary  —  " 

"See  here,"  interrupted  Ruby  Rose;  "I  thought 
you  began  to  tell  us  a  story  about  Jack  Somebody, 
but  you  get  further  and  further  away  from  it.  If  you 
don't  come  to  time,  Flossy  and  I  will  go  away  and 
have  a  game  of  Peg-in-the-ring.  She  can  play  top 
first-rate,  New  York  fashion ;  but  she  is  n't  quite  up 
to  the  Boston  jerk  yet,  and  I 've  promised  to  teach 
her." 

Tint  did  not  wish  to  lose  his  little  audience,  so" he 
began  in  a  more  promising  way:  — 

"  Giacomo  was  not  a  bad  boy.  Italian  boys,  by 
nature,  are  more  gentle  and  tractable  than  the  scuf- 
fling, noisy,  impudent  Northern  boys.  They  are  nat- 
urally little  gentlemen,  possessing  grace  of  manner, 


FRESCO-CHRISTIANS  AND  FRESCO-BANDITS.  207 


an  unconscious  politeness,  and  girlish  gentleness. 
These  traits,  taken  in  connection  with  the  fact  that 
they  are  very  beautiful,  gives  even  to  the  ragged 
street-boys  an  irresistible  charm  for  the  foreigner. 
Giacomo  was  one  of  the  handsomest  boys  in  Sienna. 
His  hair  was  very  curly  and  very  black,  and  his  large, 
intense  eyes  glowed  from  a  pale-olive  oval  face.  He 
was  especially  noted  for  assuming  graceful  attitudes, 
generally  leaning  statuesquely  against  a  pump  in  a 
little  court  opposite  the  principal  hotel.  There  he 
would  silently  watch  the  travellers  arriving  and  de- 
parting. Not  that  he  cared  a  snap  of  his  small  fin- 
gers for  the  disagreeable  people  with  the  many  boxes. 
In  this  position,  however,  they  could  not  help  seeing 
him,  and  were  quite  sure,  the  ladies  especially,  to  go 
into  raptures  over  his  beauty.  Giacomo  would  listen 
with  demure  pretence  of  not  understanding  praises 
which  were  quite  intelligible,  and  none  the  less  gratify- 
ing because  uttered  in  a  foreign  tongue.  Sometimes 
the  stranger's  admiration  was  accompanied  with  small 
gifts  of  copper  coin  or  cakes,  but  Giacomo  was  more 
vain  than  mercenary.  He  preferred  the  1 0,  how 
sweet ! '  and  '  Too  lovely  for  anything !  '  of  the  young 
ladies  to  dry  gingerbread  and  paltry  coppers.  Vanity 


208 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


was  one  of  Giacomo's  most  prominent  characteristics ; 
but  there  was  one  class  of  people  from  whom  he  never 
wittingly  levied  the  tribute  of  admiration.  Whenever 
Giacomo  saw  an  artist  alighting  at  the  door  of  the 
Hotel  Macaroni,  he  deserted  his  post  of  observation 
and  ignominiously  fled.  For  artists  had  a  most  objec- 
tionable habit  of  asking  him  to  come  and  pose  for 
them,  which  meant  keeping  the  same  attitude  for  a 
half-day  at  a  time,  and  being  talked  to,  in  language 
which  no  gentleman  can  take  from  another,  when, 


leading  motive  in  life,  — 
a  desire  to  rival  a  little  friend  of  his  named  Jacopo. 


from  weariness  or  mis- 
chief, he  changed  his  po- 
sition. He  had  suffered 
so  much  from  artists  that 
he  hated  the  whole  frater- 
nity, and  determined  to 
repay  the  grudge  which 
he  owed  them  at  his  first 
opportunity.  Beside  his 
resolution  to  revenge 
himself  on  the  artists, 
Giacomo    had  another 


FRESCO-CHRISTIANS  AND  FRESCO-BANDITS.  209 


He  was  nicknamed  1  the  Braggart,'  from  an  amiable 
faculty  of  entertaining  his  playmates  with  fictions  of 
the  most  imaginative  character.  Jacopo  had  an  uncle 
who  was  a  brigand ;  and,  according  to  the  accounts  by 
his  nephew,  there  was  no  crime,  however  black,  which 
this  uncle  had  not  perpetrated.  Giacomo  would  listen 
to  wild  tales  of  blood  and  horror  till  his  little  heart 
almost  stopped  beating,  and  his  kinky  hair  stiffened 
out  nearly  straight.  Had  his  mother  found  him  then, 
she  might,  with  great  exertion,  have  passed  a  comb 
through  it.  While  Jacopo  exulted  in  these  adven- 
tures of  his  vagabond  relative,  Giacomo  would  reflect 
with  shame  that  he  was  the  son  of  poor  but  honest 
parents,  —  that  all  his  uncles,  while  they  were  not 
equally  poor,  were  alike  unmistakably  and  lamentably 
virtuous.  In  desperate  emulation,  at  one  time,  he  told 
a  story  of  an  English  artist  who  visited  his  father's 
factory,  and  was  waylaid  in  a  wareroom  and  squeezed 
in  a  cheese-press  until  he  had  promised  that  a  large 
ransom  should  be  paid  for  his  release.  But  the  story 
was  too  improbable,  and  he  had  the  mortification  of 
hearing  it  scoffed  at  by  Jacopo  as  a  base  invention. 
In  reality,  Jacopo's  uncle  was  a  farmer,  with  no  more 
than  the  average  amount  of  Italian  rascality  of  char- 


2IO 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


acter ;  and  it  would  have  done  Giacomo's  heart  good 
if  he  could  have  known  that  the  vaunted  desperado 
was  only  a  fresco-brigand,  after  all." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  1  a  fresco-brigand  '  ?  "  asked 
Ruby  Rose. 

"  Very  much  like  the  fresco-Christians  we  have  in 
this  country,"  replied  Tint.  "  I  told  you  that  many 
of  the  Italian  churches  have  their  domes  frescoed,  so 

that  you  seem  to  be 
looking  up  through  the 
clouds  into  the  quiet 
blue  of  the  sky.  Angels 
and  saints  are  often  rep- 
resented drifting  on 
these  billowy  clouds,  or 
soaring  upward,  through 
what  seems  to  be  an  immensity  of  space,  to  the  glo- 
rious gates  of  heaven  itself.  The  dome  shuts  down 
over  the  church  as  solid  and  impenetrable  as  ever, 
and  the  heavenly  vision  is  nothing  but  colored  plas- 
ter." 

"Yes,  I  know,  I  know!"  exclaimed  Flossy,  eagerly; 
"the  wall  back  of  the  pulpit  in  our  church  is  frescoed 
to  represent  a  long  gallery,  with  a  mosaic  pavement 


FRESCO-CHRISTIANS  AND  FRESCO-BANDITS.  211 


and  many  columns  and  arches,  leading  back  to  a  beau- 
tiful garden.  I  thought  it  was  all  real,  until  the  day 
of  the  Sunday-school  concert.  We  went  on  the  plat- 
form to  say  our  verses.  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  would  not  return  by  the  stairs,  but  just  step 
behind  one  of  those  columns  and  take  a  look  at 
the  garden.  When  I  tried  it,  I  walked  straight  up 
against  the  wall,  and  there  was  n't  any  gallery,  or  any 
garden,  or  pavement,  or  anything." 

"  Now,  have  you  never  met  any  people,"  asked  Tint, 
"  who  were  like  that  ?  They  gave  you  the  impression 
of  being  persons  of  lofty  intellect  or  deep  character, 
but  when  you  tried  to  sound  them  you  found  a  blank 
wall  instead  of  the  far-reaching  vistas  which  you  ex- 
pected. Like  the  fresco  back  of  the  pulpit,  they  were 
all  sham.  Our  Saviour  called  hypocrites  whited  sep- 
ulchres, —  that  is,  walls  covered  with  a  sort  of  fresco ; 
and  the  name,  you  see,  was  not  very  unlike  the  one  I 
have  used  of  fresco-Christians. 

"  But  to  return  to  Giacomo,  wTho  was  not  by  any 
means  a  hypocrite.  Under  Jacopo's  influence  he  be- 
came very  much  ashamed  of  the  good  qualities  which 
he  really  possessed,  and  tried  to  conceal  them.  He 
resembled  the  wall  in  his  father's  cheese-factory,  which 


212  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


had  unsuspected  worth  concealed  beneath  its  unpre- 
possessing exterior.  An  opportunity  presented  itself 
at  last  for  revenging  himself  on  the  race  of  artists, 
and  for  eclipsing  Jacopo's  uncle.  A  party  of  German 
artists  stopped  at  the  hotel ;  they  saw  Giacomo  loung- 
ing in  the  sun,  listening  with  placid  face  but  envious 
heart  to  some  exploits  of  Jacopo's  uncle  more  than 
usually  ferocious.  One  of  the  gentlemen,  struck  by 
the  beautiful  face,  started,  with  sketch-box  thrown  has- 
tily over  his  shoulder,  in  pursuit  of  Giacomo,  who 

disappeared  down  a  tor- 
tuous alley.  The  artist 
spent  the  morning  in 
the  factory,  painting 
Giacomo.  While  there, 
he  heard,  from  a  dairy- 
maid who  brought  milk 
in  cans  borne  by  very 
diminutive  donkeys,  of 
a  bit  of  scenery  near 
Sienna  which  he  felt 
sure  he  would  like.  He 
determined  to  return  on  one  of  Vittoria's  donkeys, 
spend  the  night  at  the  dairy-farm,  make  his  sketch, 


FRESCO-CHRISTIANS  AND  FRESCO-BANDITS.  21 3 


and  return  by  the  next  evening.  He  wrote  a  note  to 
his  friends  informing  them  of  his  intention,  and  in- 
trusted it  to  Giacomo.  The  rogue  waited  until  the 
artist  was  out  of  sight,  and  then,  having  received  all 
the  money  he  expected,  languidly  tore  the  missive  up. 
The  artist  left  the  house  by  a  different  door  from 
that  which  he  entered,  — a  door  opening  upon  another 
street.  Jacopo  was  still  waiting  to  see  him  emerge. 
Here  was  Giacomo's  coveted  chance  to  impress  his 
friend  with  the  fact  that  a  tragedy  had  occurred. 

" '  When  is  his  eminence  the  artist  coming  out  ? ' 
asked  Jacopo,  as  Giacomo  came  stealthily  toward 
him. 

"  '  Never ! '  whispered  Giacomo,  rolling  his  eyes 
.mysteriously. 

"  '  What ! '  gasped  Jacopo. 

"  '  Yes ! '  hissed  Giacomo,  giving  three  pantomimic 
dagger-thrusts  in  the  air;  and,  clasping  his  hands  over 
his  companion's  mouth  with  the  warning,  '  Hush  ! '  he 
was  bounding  away,  but  Jacopo  held  him. 

"  '  Wait ! '  he  whispered  ;  '  was  he  very  rich  ? ' 

'"A  purse  and  a  money-belt!'  replied  Giacomo, 
placing  his  hands  close  together,  and  then  extending 
them  to  their  utmost,  indicating  the  length  of  the 
articles  in  question. 


2  14 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


"  '  Where  did  you  hide  him  ? '  asked  Jacopo ;  but  in 
his  wonder  he  had  loosened  'his  grasp  on  Giacomo, 
and  the  boy  fled.  Meantime  the  German  painters  at 
the  hotel  were  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the  absence  of 
their  friend.  The  night  passed,  and  the  morning 
found  them  seriously  alarmed.  '  He  followed  a  boy 
who  was  playing  in  the  square,'  said  one  of  them. 
'  Ah,  there  he  is  now ! '  And  the  stranger,  who  had 
seen  Jacopo  staring  at  them  with  a  curiosity  not  un- 
mixed with  importance,  shook  the  boy  by  the  shoulder 
and  demanded,  in  bad  Italian,  where  he  had  last  seen 
his  friend.  'Ah,  signor!  I  know  nothing,'  said  the 
boy ;  '  but  signor  had  best  get  the  police,  and  inquire 
at  the  cheese-factory  on  the  Via  Angelo.'  The  gen- 
tlemen inquired  and  were  leaving,  quite  satisfied  with 
the  information  received ;  but  the  actions  of  little 
Jacopo  were  so  suspicious  that  the  authorities  were 
called  and  a  search  instituted.  '  He  says  that  if  you 
seek,  treasures  will  be  discovered  hidden  in  the  wall,' 
said  one  of  the  artists ;  and  workmen  were  summoned, 
who  began  sounding  and  probing  the  plastering.  One 
of  them,  having  scratched  off  a  little  whitewash,  an- 
nounced that  he  had  come  uppn  a  red  stain,  which 
might  be  that  of  blood.    Great  excitement  prevailed  ; 


FRESCO-CHRISTIANS  AND  FRESCO-BANDITS.  215 


but  just  as  the  discovery  was  made,  the  missing  man 
appeared,  returned  from  his  excursion,  and  was  borne 
off  by  his  friends  with  much  rejoicing.  The  work- 
men, however,  having  once  begun,  could  not  be  pre- 
vailed upon,  to  desist  before  ascertaining  the  meaning 
of  the  mysterious  stain.    More  whitewash  was  re- 


moved, and  it  became  evident  that  there  was  a  paint- 
ing beneath.  More  skilled  workmen  were  brought, 
the  whitewash  entirely  and  carefully  taken  off,  and 
Giotto's  fresco  was  revealed  and  appropriated  by  the 


216  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


city  authorities.  This  would  have  been  the  end  of 
the  affair,  so  far  as  Giacomo  and  his  family  were  con- 
cerned, had  it  not  been  for  Jacopo.  His  reference  to 
a  treasure  hidden  in  the  wall  convinced  the  authorities 
that  Giacomo's  father  knew  of  this  fresco,  and  in- 
tended to  communicate  the  secret  to  foreign  art- 
connoisseurs,  and  enrich  himself  by  selling  the  build- 
ing. The  idea  was  preposterous,  but  sufficient  to 
cause  the  confiscation  of  the  building,  and  to  throw 
the  poor  man  into  prison.  On  his  discharge  he  found 
that  in  one  respect  he  was  the  gainer  for  the  occur- 
rence. Giacomo  was  transformed  from  a  vain,  lazy 
little  fellow,  with  very  loose  ideas  on  the  subject  of 
morals,  to  a  truthful,  industrious  boy,  very  anxious  to 
help  his  father,  and  very  jealous  of  that  valuable  pos- 
session, '  a  good  name.'  He  had  learned  from  bitter 
experience  that  it  does  not  pay  to  pretend  to  be  any 
worse  than  one  really  is,  —  a  piece  of  worldly  wisdom 
which  most  American  boys  understand  without  hav- 
ing to  pay  for  it  by  so  trying  an  experience." 

Ruby  Rose  thought  of  the  time  he  had  passed  and 
repassed  Flossy's  home,  ostentatiously  puffing  a  cigar 
made  of  sweetfern  and  tissue-paper,  hoping  that  she 
would  think  it  was  a  cigarette  and  admire  his  manli- 


FRESCO-CHRISTIANS  AND  FRESCO-BANDITS.  21 J 


ness.  He  remembered  also  how  Grandma  Tangle- 
skein  had  observed  him,  called  him  in,  and  lectured 
him  on  the  evils  of  tobacco,  refusing  to  credit  his 
explanation  of  the  innocent  material  of  his  cigar. 
Still  further  he  recalled  how,  through  her,  the  opin- 
ion had  gradually  crept  into  the  minds  of  his  Sunday- 
school  teacher  and  others  whom  he  respected  that  he 


was  a  depraved  young  smoker.  Ruby  Rose  thought 
of  all  this  and  was  silent. 

To  Flossy  also  the  story  gave  material  for  thought. 
All  her  small  affectations  and  aristocratic  airs,  which 
had  many  times  given  her  the  appearance  of  being 
sillier  and  vainer  than  she  really  was,  seemed  espe- 
cially foolish  now.    Her  father  had  watched  her  with 


218 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


an  amused  expression  one  evening,  and  had  remarked 
in  her  hearing,  "  I  think  our  little  girl  must  be  de- 
scended from  the  Kabeljaauschen  of  Holland." 

"  W ere  they  a  noble  family  ?  "  asked  Flossy. 

"  They  were  called  the  Codfish  Aristocracy,"  replied 
Mr.  Tangleskein. 


BURNT  SIENNA. 


THE  STORY  OF  A  DONKEY. 


HEN  I  travelled 
in  the  Pyre- 
nees," said  Tint, 
"I  was  very 
much  interested  in  a 
little  donkey  whose  ac- 
quaintance I  made  while 
on  his  back,  with  the 
paints,  folding-easel, 
camp-stool,  umbrella,  and 
the  rest  of  Mr.  Rose's 
sketching  apparatus.  He 
was  a  shaggy,  wayward  fellow.  His  extreme  little- 
ness gave  one  the  mistaken  idea  that  he  was  quite 
young,  whereas,  I  think  I  never  knew  a  more  ven- 
erable donkey.    I  do  not  think  Baalam,  himself,  on 


222 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


a  similar  occason,  was  more  surprised  than  I  when 
I  first  heard  this  animal  speak.  I  was  lying  on 
the  grass,  where  Mr.  Rose  had  thrown  me,  while 
he  followed  a  goat-herd  who  urged  him  to  behold 
a  wonderful  view  from  the  other  side  of  the  moun- 
tain, near  whose  top  he  had  taken  his  seat.  He 
did  not  see  the  goat-herd's  confederate,  another  red- 
capped  boy,  crouching  behind  a  rock  waiting  for 
Mr.  Rose  to  be  out  of  sight,  when  he  proposed  to 
examine  his  sketch-box,  and  make  off  with  what- 
ever suited  his  fancy.  I  was  just  wondering  whether 
I  would  ever  get  back  to  America  again,  when  I 
heard  a  voice  above  me  say :  '  Now  I  am  not  so 
foolish  as  to  be  deceived  by  that  boy ;  no,  not  if 
I  am  a  donkey.' 

"  'It  is  a  very  good  thing  if  one  is  a  donkey  to 
know  it,'  I  said.  '  I 've  known  a  great  many  don- 
keys who  supposed  all  their  lives  that  they  were 
men.'  My  new  friend  did  not  reply;  he  was  en- 
gaged in  active  hostilities  with  the  boy.  Each 
time  that  he  attempted  a  stealthy  approach  the 
donkey  would  wheel  about,  and  with  a  few  well- 
directed  kicks  convince  the  intruder  that  it  was 
best  not  to  begin  his  attack  in  that  quarter.  The 


THE  STORY  OF  A  DONKEY. 


223 


rascal  gave  it  up  entirely  after  a  while,  and  went 
away  looking  as  shamefaced  as  any  boy  could  who 
knew  that  he  had  been  beaten  by  a  donkey. 

" '  Now  that  is  what  I  call  being  a  patron  of  Art 
to  some  purpose,'  I  said,  admiringly. 

"  *  Perhaps  if  you  knew  my  history,'  said  the  don- 
key, '  you  would  find  that  I  have  done  more  for 
Art  than  you  think.  My  name  is  Roland;  Roland 
of  Roncesvalles.' 

" '  Stop ! '  said  I  ;  *  Roland  was  a  man,  the  nephew 
of  Charlemagne,  and  was  killed  by  the  Moors  when 
passing  with  the  rear-guard  of  his  uncle's  army 
through  a  defile  in  the  mountains  not  far  from 
here ;  the  Moors  tore  up  great  rocks  and  stumps 
of  trees,  and  rolled  them  down  the  mountain-side 
upon  them.  I  know  all  about  it,  for  I  know  every- 
thing that  Art  has  had  anything  to  do  with  ;  there 
is  a  picture  in  the  British  Museum,  by  the  Spanish 
Velasquez,  of  Roland  lying  dead  in  a  valley.'" 

"  That  must  have  been  the  same  Roland,"  said 
Flossy,  "  whose  betrothed  lived  on  the  banks  of 
the  Rhine.  Hearing  a  false  rumor  that  her  lover 
was  killed  in  battle,  she  became  a  nun ;  but  just 
as  the  vow  was  made,  Roland   returned.     In  his 


224  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


despair  at  never  being  able  to  see  her  again,  he 
built  the   castle  of  Drachenfels,  and   lived   in  it, 

that  he  might 
overlook  the 
co  n  v  e  n  t 
~  where  the 
lady  of  his 
love  was  a 
prisoner.  I 
spoke  a  piece 
about  it  at  our  school  exhibition:  — 


'  She  died  !    He  sought  the  battle  plain, 
Her  image  filled  his  dying  brain, 

When  he  fell  and  wished  to  fall. 
And  her  name  was  in  his  latest  sigh, 
When  Roland,  the  flower  of  chivalry, 

Expired  at  Roncevall.'  " 

"  That,"  replied  Tint,  "  was  the  Roland  I  had  in 
mind,  but  the  donkey  insisted  that  there  could  be 
more  than  one  of  the  name.  He  claimed  a  family 
resemblance  in  all  the  Rolands.  1  Charlemagne's 
nephew,'  said  he,  'was  a  great  donkey  to  come 
straggling  along  so  far  behind  the  main  body  of 
the  army,  when  he  knew  that  the  country  was  full 


THE  STORY  OF  A  DONKEY. 


225 


of  Moors;  but  the  first  Roland  was  obstinate,  and 
so  am  I.  I  have  no  doubt  he  looked  like  me,  and 
that  the  picture  which  Caricature  is  making  of  him, 
with  the  very  long  ears,  is  a  correct  likeness.  They 
keep  his  breeches  as  a  sacred  relic  at  the  convent 
of  Roncesvalles.  I  never  saw  them,  so  I  cannot 
tell  whether  Carrie's  picture  is  correct  in  that  par- 
ticular or  not. 

" '  The  convent  of  Roncesvalles  is  built  high  up 
on  one  of  the  ranges  of  the  Pyrenees.  As  you 
cross  the  southern  frontier  of  France  and  enter 
Spain,  the  road  winds  up,  up,  so  steep  and  so 
narrow  that  it  is  impracticable  for  wheels,  and  curi- 
ous tourists  who  go  on  pilgrimage  that  way  must 
be  content  to  travel  on  mule-back.  Old  Mother 
Bordagaray  lived  in  a  village  through  which  tour- 
ists usually  passed  on  their  way  to  the  convent  of 
Roncesvalles.  Mother  Bordagaray  was  not  a  lady 
of  wealth,  but  she  owned  two  remarkable  things : 
an  old  brass  door-knocker,  a  little  cherub  whose 
nose  had  been  hopelessly  driven  into  its  face  by 
the  descent  of  the  heavy  hammer  upon  it,  and  me. 
The  knocker  was  considered  a  great  curiosity,  and 
brought  her  numerous  visitors,  some  one  of  whom 


226 


ALL  AROUND  A  'PALETTE. 


I  generally  carried  away.  Mother  Bprdagaray  re- 
ceived a  nice  little  income  by  letting  me  to  tour- 
ists who  wished  to  visit  Roncesvalles.  She  gave 
me  the  name  of  Roland,  thinking  it  would  interest 
sentimental  ladies  and  antiquarian  gentlemen  in  me, 
and  so  it  did.  I  had  no  great  love  for  these  expe- 
ditions ;  there  was  no  fun  in  carrying  a  fat  Eng- 
lish lady  up  that  steep  path  on  a  broiling  summer 
day.  I  soon  acquired  the  reputation  of  being  a 
great  loiterer.  Sometimes  when  I  had  succeeded 
in  putting  a  considerable  distance  between  the  ad- 
vancing train  and  myself,  I  would  turn  resolutely, 
and  proceed  at  headlong  speed  down  the  mountain, 
never  once  pausing  to  take  breath  until  I  reached 
the  inn  with  the  sign  of  the  swine,  at  Val  Carlos. 

" '  No  travellers  would  have  hired  me  had  my 
real  character  been  known ;  but  Jose  Ybarnegaray 
Cavorde,  the  best  guide  in  this  region,  was  a  fast 
friend  of  Mother  Bordagaray.  He  always  recom- 
mended her  donkey,  apologizing  for  every  .new  es- 
capade of  mine  as  something  hitherto  unheard  of. 

'"  The  children  all  liked  me,  for  I  was  so  low 
they  could  mount  me  easily ;  when  they  twisted 
their  hands  in  my  shaggy  coat  to  make  it  easier  in 


THE  STORY  OF  A  DONKEY. 


227 


clambering  up,  I  never  showed  resentment.  Some- 
times it  was  a  little  boy  or  girl  whom  I  carried 
safely  to  visit  his  or  her  father  in  the  Carlist  camp, 
or  two  older  girls  who  were  going  to  some  merry- 
making on  the  fete  of  St.  Jean.  Mother  Borda- 
garay  herself  always  went  to  the  hot  springs  on  the 
eve  of  that  day.  There  was  a  tradition  handed 
down  through  many  generations,  and  it  ran  as  fol- 
lows :  "  Whoever  should  then  fill  his  mouth  with 
sulphur-water  from  one  of  the  springs,  and  rapidly 
run  the  gauntlet  of  the  long  lines  of  jeering  spec- 
tators, pausing  a  moment  at  each  of  the  springs, 
returning  to  his  starting  point  without  having  once 
laughed,  or  spilled,  or  swallowed  a  drop  of  the 
precious  water,  should  be  exempt  from  toothache 
throughout  all  the  following  year." 

" '  Of  course  there  were  seasons  when  there  were 
no  tourists;  then  Jose  changed  his  profession  of 
guide  for  that  of  muleteer,  or  even  of  smuggler. 
On  these  occasions  he  usually  came  for  me,  and  I 
made  long  journeys  by  circuitous  mountain-paths 
from  Spain  to  France,  with  skins  of  fiery  Spanish 
wine  that  were  never  entered  at  the  custom-house. 
We  returned  with  gunpowder   and   cartridges  for 


2  28  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


the  Carlists.  It  was  this  train  of  Jose's  that  Rosa 
Bonheur  painted  in  her  celebrated  picture  called 
Muleteers  Crossing  the  Pyrenees.' " 

"  There  is  a  photograph  of  it  in.  that  album  of 
your  father's,"  remarked  Tint,  in  an  aside  to  Ruby 
Rose ;  "  you  will  see  a  portrait  of  Roland  in  the 
donkey  at  your  left  hand ;  he  is  quickly  recogniz- 
able, for  he  is  straying  away  as  usual  from  the 
rest,  and  is  looking  back  to  see  if  Jose  Barnegaray 
has  noticed  him.  Rusk-in  describes  this  picture  at 
length,  and  devotes  a  few  lines  to  the  perverse 
Roland."  Ruby  at  once  ran  for  the  photograph, 
while  Flossy  read  from  Ruskin  the  following  para- 
graph :  — 

"  What  solemn  trustworthiness  and  official  respectability 
in  the  richly  caparisoned  and  belled  mule  that  leads.  What 
amusing  knowingness  in  the  multitude  of  long  ears  point- 
ing straight  forwards.  What  awkward  obstinate-headed- 
ness,  expecting  cudgel- blows,  in  the  young  rebel  straying 
from  line  to  pluck  thistles  ! " 

"  The  young  rebel  was  Roland,  was  it  not  ? " 
asked  Flossy ;  Tint  with  a  nod  went  on  with  Ro- 
land's story. 

" '  So  posing  for  Rosa  Bonheur  was  the  great  ser- 
vice which  you  rendered  Art  ? '  I  asked. 


THE  STORY  OF  A  DONKEY. 


229 


" '  That  was  something,'  replied  Roland,  '  but  I 
have  done  more  than  that.  Surrounded  by  some 
of  the  highest  peaks  of  the  Pyrenees  is  a  little  val- 
ley, itself  farther  up 
above  the  level  of 
the  sea  than  the  tops 
of  most  mountains. 
Here  there  is  a  very 
old,  old  church,  of 
the  time  of  the  Cru- 
saders. It  contains 
a  great  treasure  in 
an  altar-piece  by  Mu- 
rillo,  a  large  painting  of  many  figures,  the  central 
and  principal  ones  being  a  Virgin  and  child  of  ex- 
treme loveliness,  seated  upon  the  clouds.  One  morn- 
ing a  stranger  appeared  in  our  village,  and  hired 
Jose  Barnegaray  to  go  with  him,  taking  a  small 
train  of  mules,  to  sell  umbrellas  through  the  remote 
towns  of  the  Pyrenees.  Our  town  was,  as  I  have 
said,  the  last  in  one  direction  which  the  diligence 
reached,  and  the  umbrellas  arrived  by  this  convey- 
ance the  following  evening.  Mother  Bordagaray 
looked  with  a  covetous  eye  at  the  stock  of  hand- 


230  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 

some  bright  covers  lying  like  so  many  butterflies 
with  folded  wings,  or  gladiolus  buds  only  waiting 
for  the  hand  of  summer  to  touch  their  springs  and 
make  them  burst  into  brilliant  bloom.  Her  own 
umbrella  had  been  bright  red  once,  but  the  suns 
of  fifty  years  had  somewhat  faded  its  original  scar- 
let. It  was  her  constant  companion,  and  she  still 
stroked  its  horn  handle  caressingly,  and  wrapped  it 
carefully  in  her  apron  whenever  she  was  caught 
with  it  in  a  shower.  Some  of 
^  the  stranger's  umbrellas  had  neat 

I oilskin  cases,  a  better  protection 
for  the  umbrella  in  case  of  rain, 
•she  thought,  than  her  apron;  for 
Mother  Bordagaray  would  sooner 
]  let  the  rain  beat  upon  her  own 
I  unprotected  head  than  subject  her 
umbrella  to  the  insult  of  a  storm. 
Mother  Bordagaray  asked  the 
I  price  of  one  of  the  umbrellas ;  it 
was  far  beyond  her  modest  purse, 
but  the  trader  obligingly  offered 
to  take  in  exchange  her  brass  knocker.  The  good 
woman  looked  at  the  little  snub-nosed  angel,  and 


THE  STORY  OF  A  DONKEY. 


231 


her  heart  misgave  her,  though  she  acknowledged 
that  the  profit  would  all  be  on  her  side.  That 
evening  Jose  Barnegaray  came  to  hire  me  for  the 
trip.  "  If  you  will  only  charge  the  man  enough  for 
the  use  of  the  donkey  to  buy  me  one  of  his  um- 
brellas, you  shall  have  one  when  we  return,"  said 
Jose;  and  the  bargain  was  closed. 

"  *  As  we  passed  through  the  various  obscure  vil- 
lages that 
lay  like  the 
beads  of  a 
rosaryalong 
our  lonely 
route,  it  be- 
came evi- 
dent that 
the  umbrel- 
1  a  -  trader 
•was  some- 
thing more  than  an  umbrella-trader,  pure  and  sim- 
ple. He  was  not  so  anxious  to  obtain  money  in 
return  for  his  wares  as  to  exchange  them  for  old 
and  curious  objects.  Here  he  found  a  dish  of  won- 
derful faience,  gay  with  painted  flowers,  and  there 


232 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


an  elaborately  carved  crucifix,  a  bit  of  old  lace,  or  a 
steel  gauntlet,  some  relic  of  Charlemagne,  perhaps, 
it  was  so  rusty  and  so  finely  damascened  with  ara- 
besques with  inlay  of  silver  and  gold.  Once  he 
supplied  all  the  cures  of  a  little  church  with  extra 
gay  umbrellas  in  return  for  a  faded  silken  altar- 
cloth,  heavily  embroidered  by  some  noble  lady,  they 
had  forgotten  who ;  but  the  trader  sold  it  afterwards 
as  the  work  of  the  mother  of  Henry  of  Navarre. 

" 1  If  Longfellow  had  written  his  verses  on  Spain 
at  this  time  Roland  might  have  used  the  following 
stanza  in  describing  this  excursion :  — 

"  The  crosses  in  the  mountain  pass, 
Mules  gay  with  tassels,  the  loud  din 
Of  muleteers,  the  tethered  ass 
That  crops  the  dusty  wayside  grass, 
And  cavaliers  with  spurs  of  brass 
Alighting  at  the  inn." 

For  Roland,  even  though  tethered,  was  just  the 
one  to  stray  away,  and  an  old  pair  of  brazen  spurs 
discovered  at  a  Wayside  Inn  was  handed  over  in 
part  payment  for  an  umbrella. 

"'At  length  we  reached  the  little  town  in  the 
valley  which  I  mentioned  as  possessing  the  beau- 


THE  STORY  OF  A  DONKEY.  233 


tiful  picture  of  Murillo.  The  guardians  of  the  church 
knew  its  worth,  and  could  not  be  persuaded  to  part 
with  it  upon  any  terms.  The  picture  seemed  to 
exert  a  fascination  upon  the  trader,  and  he  acquired 
a  reputation  among  the  peasants  of  being  very  pious, 
by  resorting  frequently  to  the  chapel  to  look  at  it. 
We  made  this  village  our  turning-point,  and  speedily 
retraced  our  steps  through  the  towns  we  had  left 
at  one  side  on  our  upward  journey.  The  apparent 
object  now  was  not  to  sell  umbrellas,  of  which  there 
was  quite  a  quantity  left,  or  to  collect  curiosities, 
but  to  get  out  of  the  country  as  rapidly  as  possible, 
and  to  dodge  all  the  custom-house  officers.  When 
I  found  that  we  had  passed  my  native  village,  and 
were  diverging  more  and  more  from  it  in  hurrying 
toward  the  nearest  railroad-station,  I  was  not  at  all 
pleased.  Slipping  my  head  from  the  noose  by  which 
we  were  all  tethered  together,  one  exceptionally  dark 
night  (for  we  travelled  at  night  now,  only  resting  a 
few  hours  during  the  heat  of  the  day),  I  shook 
the  dust  from  my  heels,  and  set  out  at  a  mad  gal- 
lop for  Mother  Bordagaray.  Jose  Barnegaray  missed 
me  at  daybreak,  and  was  despatched  by  his  employer 
to  fetch  me  back.    He  knew  the  short  cuts  over 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


the  mountains ;  and  as  I  stopped  occasionally  to 
rest  and  to  refresh  myself  with  a  few  piquant  this- 
tles, he  came  up  the  road  brandishing  his  heavily- 
loaded  makillah,  or  mountaineer's  stick,  just  as  I 
trotted  in  a  shamefaced  way  into  Mother  Borda- 
garay's  court-yard. 

"'I  thought 
you  were  com- 
ing back  this 
way,'  said 
Mother  Bor- 
dagaray,  when 
she  heard  how 
matters  stood. 

" '  True,'  re- 
plied  Jose; 
'  but  now  the 
patron  seems 
only  anxious  to 
reach  the  rail- 
road;  if  he 
comes  this  way 
he  must  con- 
tinue to  Bayonne,  whereas  Pau  is  much  nearer.' 


THE  STORY  OF  A  DONKEY.  235 


" 1  When,  then,'  asked  Mother  Bordagaray,  '  am 
I  to  get  my  umbrella  ? ' 

" '  Thou  mightest  take  it  now,'  replied  Jose,  '  but 
that  I  have  no  time  for  thee  to  open  all  of  them, 
and  call  a  meeting  of  thy  neighbors  to  decide  which 
is  the  best';  whereupon  Jose  turned  me  about,  and 
began  to  rain  stinging  blows  upon  me  with  his  ma- 
killah.  Mother  Bordagaray,  seeing  her  opportunity 
for  securing  an  umbrella  vanishing,  seized  one  by 
chance.  Jose,  confident  that  his  employer  would 
never  miss  it,  and  that  he  would  in  this  way  be 
released  from  paying  for  my  hire,  nodded  gayly  to 
Mother  Bordagaray  as  he  drove  rapidly  away. 

11  We  returned  home  after  seeing  the  umbrella- 
trader,  his  curiosities,  and  his  umbrellas  safely  on 
board  the  express-train  for  Paris,  and  found  the  vil- 
lage in  immense  excitement.  Gensdarmes  and  de- 
tective officers  were  striding  importantly  or  mysteri- 
ously about,  while  some  priests,  whom  I  remembered 
having  seen  at  the  little  chapel  of  the  Murillo  Ma- 
donna, were  talking  angrily  at  the  inn.  Scarcely 
had  we  arrived  when  the  officers  laid  hands  upon 
Jose  Barnegaray,  arresting  him  as  the  accomplice 
of  a  thief,  for  the  precious  picture  had  been  stolen 


236 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


from  the  chapel,  and  they  were  certain  that  the 
umbrella-trader  had  taken  it.  In  vain  Jose  protested 
his  innocence ;  he  was  thrown  into  prison  to  await 
the  meeting  of  the  court.  When  the  court  did  meet 
nothing  could  be  proved  against  Jose.  A  high  re- 
ward had  been  offered  for  the  lost  picture,  but 
there  existed  no  probability  of  its  recovery,  for  the 
thief  was  by  this  time  beyond  seas.  Every  one 
was  surprised  during  the  hearing  of  the  case  to 
see  Mother  Bordagaray  rise  and  prefer  a  claim  for 
the  hire  of  her  donkey. 

"  '  Bones  of  Roland  ! '  exclaimed  Jose  Barnegaray ; 
1  you,  at  least,  have  no  cause  to  complain  ;  did  you 
not  yourself  pick  out  the  best  umbrella  that  you 
could  lay  your  hands  upon  ? ' 

"'Do  you  call  this  an  umbrella?'  shrieked 
Mother  Bordagaray,  drawing  a  smooth  round  rod 
from  the  neat  oilskin  case  with  a  gesture  that  the 
first  Roland  might  have  used  in  unsheathing  his 
famous  sword.  Only  a  smooth  round  rod,  with  no 
resemblance  to  an  umbrella,  excepting  the  handle 
and  the  case.  The  judge  examined  it  critically. 
(  Was  this  all  ? '  he  asked. 

"'All,'  replied  Mother  Bordagaray,  'except  that 


THE  STORY  OF  A  DONKEY. 


237 


it  had  some  pieces  of  oil-cloth  wrapped  around  it 
to  help  stuff  out  the  case,  and  make  it  look  more 
like  a  real  umbrella.' 

" '  And  where  are  the  pieces  of  oil-cloth  ? '  asked 
the  judge. 

" '  I  have  tacked  them  up  in  my  Roland's  stable, 
to  help  keep  the  rain  out  of  the  cracks.' 

" '  You  had  better  go  and  examine,'  said  the 
judge  to  one  of  the  detectives.  A  few  moments 
later  the  detective,  two 
gensdarmes,  a  priest,  and 
Mother  Bordagaray  filed 
into  my  apartment  with- 
out so  much  as  ever  say- 
ing, '  By  your  leave,  Senor 
Roland.' 

"  When  the  priest  saw 
what  Mother  Bordagaray, 
with  her  defective  eye- 
sight, had  nailed  above 
my  manger,  he  fell  upon 
his  knees,  exclaiming :  "  Blessed  Virgin !  it  is  not 
the  first  time  that  thou  and  thy  most  worshipful 
child  didst  inhabit  a  stable,  and  keep  company  with 
an  ass  !    Hail  Mary  ! 


238  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


"  Ave,  Regina  ccelorum  ! 
Ave,  Domina  angelorum  ! 
Ora  pro  nobis  !  " 

Here  was  the  figure  of  the  Virgin  and  child  which 
the  thief  had  cut  from  the  great  picture,  and  care- 
fully rolled  about  the  false  umbrella ;  the  other  fig- 
ures had  been  treated  in  the  same  way,  and  the 
precious  packages  deposited  with  various  parts  of 
the  merchandise.  When  I  thought  of  the  umbrella- 
man's  chagrin  as  he  put  his  picture  together,  and 
found  the  principal  figures  missing,  I  could  have 
laughed  most  heartily;  but  we  donkeys  make  it  a 
point  never  to  so  far  forget  our  dignity.  To  tell 
the  truth,  too,  I  was  somewhat  vexed  at  the  abrupt 
way  in  which  the  Madonna  had  been  taken  away 
from  me,  —  from  me,  Roland  of  Roncesvalles  the 
second,  a  greater  lover  and  patron  of  Art,  by  far, 
than  any  of  the  "  jolly  fat  friars,"  who  were  wont 
to  spend  the  long  evenings  in  their  mountain  con- 
vent, — 

"  Sitting  round  the  great  roaring  fires, 
Roaring  louder  than  they." 

They  took  it  into  their  charge  without  thanking  me 
for  its  restoration,  or  thinking  that  but  for  my  pro- 


THE  STORY  OF  A  DONKEY. 


239 


pensity  to  err  from  the  path  in  which  the  short- 
sighted vision  of  Jose  Barnegaray  considered  it  my 
duty  to  walk,  they  would  never  again  have  looked 
upon  the  Murillo  Madonna.' " 


VAN-DYCK  BROWN. 


VAN-DYCK  BROWN. 


TWO  DOGS  OF  VAN  DYCK. 


HE  painter  who  best 
understood  dogs  — 
who  probably  paint- 
ed the  greatest  num- 
ber of  them,  from 
the  stag-hound  and 
great  Newfoundland 
to  the  tiny  lapdog, 
depicting  every 
shade  of  emotion  in 
a  dog's  nature  —  is, 
no  doubt,  Sir  Edwin  Landseer.  Even  the  children 
in  America  are  familiar  with  his  pictures,  through 
the  numerous  photographs  and  engravings  of  them 
displayed  in  every  book  and  picture  store.  But  there 
was  another  artist  who,  though  best  known  as  a 
portrait-painter,  yet  showed  a  wonderful  sympathy  for 


244  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


animals.  This  was  Anthony  Van  Dyck,  born  at  Ant- 
werp and  a  pupil  of  Rubens.  He  studied,  too,  in 
Italy,  but  a  great  part  of  his  life  was  spent  in  Eng- 
land, at  the  court  of  Charles  I.  "  The  extravagance 
and  fastidiousness  of  his  tastes  caused  him  to  be 
called  the  '  Cavalier  Painter.'  A  restlessness  of  dis- 
position and  love  of  luxury  rendered  him  discon- 
tented in  his  native  land.  His  refined  and  agreeable 
manners  made  him  a  favorite  at  court,  and  especially 
endeared  him  to  the  king,  with  whom  his  name  is 
always  associated,  from  the  frequent  portraits  of  the 
ill-fated  monarch  and  his  family  which  were  executed 
by  his  hand.  The  nobles  of  England  were  also  eager 
to  patronize  him,  and  he  painted  many  single  figures 
or  family  pictures  which  are  held  as  relics  to  the  pres- 
ent day.  Among  them  are  various  likenesses  of  the 
Arundels,  of  the  Ladies  Percy,  the  Earl  of  Northum- 
berland, the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  the  Pembrokes 
and  Wiltons,  and  the  splendid  portrait  of  Lady  Vene- 
tia  Digby  at  Windsor  Castle." 

The  great  art-critic,  Ruskin,  says  that  no  one  has 
painted  a  horse  worthily  since  Van  Dyck,  and  gives  a 
description  of  a  knight  on  horseback  painted  by  him, 
which  is  almost,  if  not  quite,  as  good  as  a  copy  of  the 


TWO  DOGS  OF  VAN  DYCK. 


245 


picture.  u  The  knight,"  he  says,  "  rides  in  a  suit  of 
rusty  armor.  It  has  evidently  been  polished  carefully 
and  gleams  brightly  here  and  there ;  but  all  the  pol- 
ishing in  the  world  will  never  take  the  battle-dints 
and  battle-darkness  out  of  it.  His  horse  is  gray, — its 
mane  deep  and  soft,  part  of  it  shaken  in  front  over 
its  forehead ;  the  rest,  in  enormous  masses  of  waving 
gold,  falls  on  its  neck,  and  rises,  rippled  by  the  wind, 
over  the  rider's  armor.  The  saddle-cloth  is  of  a  dim 
red,  fading  into  leathern  brown,  gleaming  with  spar- 
kles of  gold.  The  knight's  armor,  too,  is  chased  here 
and  there  with  gold ;  the  delicate,  rich,  point-lace 
collar  falling  on  the  embossed  breast-plate ;  his  dark 
hair  flowing  over  his  shoulders;  a  crimson  silk  scarf 
fastened  round  his  waist  and  floating  behind  him. 
And  all  of  this  —  the  rich,  light,  crimson  scarf,  the 
flowing  hair,  the  delicate,  sharp,  though  sunburnt 
features,  and  the  lace  collar  —  does  not  in  the  least 
diminish  the  manliness,  but  adds  feminineness.  One 
sees  that  the  knight  is  indeed  a  soldier,  while  he 
is  accomplished  in  other  ways  and  tender  in  all 
thoughts." 

Under  the  head  of  "  Van-Dyck  Brown,"  Tint  told 
the  children  a  story  of  one  of  Van  Dyck's  pictures,  — 


246 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


a  painting  in  which  both  portraits  and  animals  fig- 
ured, — "  The  Children  of  Charles  I.,"  of  the  Berlin 
Gallery,  in  which  "  the  quaint  little  princes  and  prin- 
cess stand  demurely  and  pathetically  before  the  spec- 
tator." Little  Prince  Charles  stands  in  the  centre, 
with  his  hand  resting  caressingly  upon  the  head  of  a 
huge  mastiff.  He  is  dressed  in  the  rich  costume  of 
the  age,  —  a  point-lace  collar,  such  as  Ruskin  de- 
scribes in  the  picture  of  the  knight,  with  cuffs  to 
match,  falling  over  a  rich  satin  vest ;  the  sleeves  are 
slashed ;  he  wears  large  rosettes  on  his  shoes  and  at 
his  knee ;  his  hair  falls  carelessly  upon  his  shoulders, 
and  is  banged  across  the  forehead ;  the  face  of  the 
little  prince  is  sweetly  serious  and  thoughtful.  The 
Princess  Elizabeth  stands  at  the  extreme  right  of 
Prince  Charlie.  A  row  of  large  pearls  encircles  the 
delicate  little  throat,  and  dainty  ringlets  shadow  the 
waxy-pale  face,  as  pure  as  it  is  fair ;  the  little  figure  is 
as  frail  and  spiritual  as  a  lily,  with  a  far-away  look  in 
the  dreamy  eyes.  The  other  children  are  in  the  back- 
ground ;  but  Tint's  story  dealt  more  especially  with 
the  characters  already  mentioned,  and  a  little  King 
Charles  spaniel  crouching  in  the  left-hand  corner. 
It  was  a  story  in  which  fiction  was  well  mixed  with 


TWO  DOGS  OF  VAN  DYCK. 


247 


truth ;  and  we  advise  our  little  readers,  as  they  grow 
older,  to  make  a  study  of  the  fascinating  pages  of 
English  history,  that  they  may  learn  the  real  facts 
of— 

THE  STORY. 

Once,  when  King  Charles  I.  determined  to  have  the 
court-painter,  Van  Dyck,  paint  a  portrait  of  his  chil- 
dren, the  little  heir-apparent,  Prince  Charlie,  and  his 
sister  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  begged  that  their  pets 
might  be  introduced  in  the  picture.  Elizabeths  pet 
was  a  silky  little  lapdog,  called 
a  "  spaniel  gentle,"  with  deli- 
cate, pointed  nose,  liquid,  hazel 
eyes,  and  long  ears  as  soft  as 
floss,  and  Floss  was  the  dog's 
name.  King  Charles  liked 
these  tiny  dogs  so  much  that  they  became  the  fashion 
at  his  court,  and  were  called  King  Charles  spaniels. 
Floss  once  belonged  to  a  family  in  the  lowest  rank  of 
London  society,  and  had  not,  like  some  of  the  other 
court  dogs,  been  used  to  refinement  and  luxury  from 
her  birth.  She  was  what  is  called  a  "parvenue,"  or 
new-comer,  and,  as  such,  seemed  to  think  that,  to 


248  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 

maintain  her  footing  in  society,  she  must  outdo  the 
established  aristocracy  in  fastidiousness  and  punctilio. 
No  dog  among  them  all  was  more  particular  as  to  the 
quality  of  the  velvet  on  her  cushion,  or  the  down  in 
it ;  she  regarded  with  a  critical,  disapproving  eye  the 
gold  lace  with  which  it  was  trimmed.  None  were  so 
sensitive  to  the  perfumes  used  by  the  people  who  pre- 
sumed to  fondle  her,  or  so  squeamish  concerning  food 
which  was  not  served  from  gold  or  silver.  And  yet 
Floss  had  been  owned  by  a  factory  operative  (for  they 
had  certain  factories  even  in  those  days).  She  once 
thought  herself  happy  if  the  butcher,  above  whose 
shop  the  family  lived,  occasionally 
threw  her  a  bone  ;  and  the  smells  of 
the  neighborhood  were  unknown  to 
Rimmel,  Lubin,  or  any  other  per- 
fumer to  their  royal  majesties.  Floss 
was  walking  in  those  days,  with  the 
children  of  the  operative,  through 
one  of  the  great  parks,  when  the 
royal  coach,  containing  the  royal  chil- 
dren, dashed  by.  Elizabeth  wTas  at 
the  window,  and  exclaimed  at  the  sight  of  the  pretty 
spaniel,  whereupon  one  of  the  outriders,  stooping 


TWO  DOGS  OF  VAN  DYCK.  249 


until  his  head  lay  upon  his  horse's  neck,  caught  the 
dog  at  one  fell  swoop,  and  presented  her  to  the  prin- 
cess. The  lady-in-waiting,  who  had  charge  of  the 
royal  children  for  the  drive,  threw  a  handful  of  coins 
from  the  carriage  window  to  the  disconsolate  little 
folks,  so  rudely  deprived 
of  their  pet;  then  Floss 
and  the  equipage  swept 
from  their  sight.  The 
owner  of  the  dog  was 
very  angry,  and,  though 
he  could  then  do  nothing 
to  help  himself,  he  swore 
t  h  a  t  h  e  j 
would  be  Heiii 
avenged 
one  day 
for  the  rob- 


bery. 

Prince 
Charlie's 
favorite, 
the  great 

mastiff  Brutus,  had  his  history  also.    Shortly  before 


250  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


the  painting  of  the  picture,  the  royal  family  spent  a 
few  weeks  at  Stopford  Castle,  near  Worcester.  The 
castle  was  situated  at  a  ford ;  and  a  legend  derived  its 
name  from  a  custom  practised  by  its  former  lords  of 
levying  a  compulsory  toll  on  all  travellers  who  passed 
that  way.  There  was  a  grange  or  farm  connected 
with  the  castle.  Prince  Charlie  sometimes  visited 
this  place  with  the  keeper,  to  see  the  dogs.  There 
was  a  noble  leash  of  hounds  kept  for  hunting,  and  in 
a  large  kennel  the  great  watch-dog  Brutus,  as  solitary 
and  morose  as  a  hermit.  By  dint  of  plentiful  gifts  of 
meat  and  cautious  caressing,  Charlie  gradually  won 
the  good-will  of  the  huge  creature,  until  at  last  he 
allowed  him  to  ride  upon  his  back,  and  even  to  creep 
into  his  capacious  kennel  and  nestle  up  against  him 
on  the  clean  straw.  When  Charlie  returned  to  Hamp- 
ton Court  Palace,  in  London,  and  the  picture  began, 
Brutus  was  sent  for  to  figure  in  it.  He  was  brought 
to  the  city  by  stage-coach,  chained  like  a  criminal. 
Perhaps  he  felt  the  indignity,  for  he  was  very  surly 
and  frightened  his  guards  out  of  their  senses.  No 
one  could  be  induced  to  sit  beside  him,  and  he  occu- 
pied the  top  of  the  coach  in  solitary  grandeur.  He 
recognized  the  little  prince,  however,  and  allowed  the 


TWO  DOGS  OF  VAN  DYCK. 


small  white  hand  to  rest  confidingly  on  his  giant 
head.  Floss  snarled  at  the  intruder  as  altogether  too 
plebeian  for  her  ladyship,  while  Brutus  turned  his 
back  on  the  tiny  creature  with  lofty  disdain.  After 
the  portrait  was  finished  he  went  up  to  Stopford 
again,  and  many  years  passed  before  he  and  Prince 
Charlie  met. 

In  this  interval  the  kingdom  turned  itself  over.  A 
revolution  transpired,  and  the  gay,  kind-hearted  King 
Charles  I.  was  beheaded.  Prince  Charlie  and  his 
mother  were  in  exile ;  but  the  little  Princess  Eliza- 
beth, with  one  of  her  younger  brothers,  the  Duke  of 
Gloucester,  shared  their  father's  imprisonment.  Be- 
fore his  execution  the  king  took  the  little  duke  upon 
his  knee  and  said,  "  Now  they  will  cut  off  thy  father's 
head."  At  these  words  the  child  looked  very  stead- 
fastly upon  him.  "  Mark,  child,  what  I  say :  they  will 
cut  off  my  head,  and  perhaps  make  thee  a  king.  But 
mark  what  I  say :  thou  must  not  be  a  king  as  long  as 
thy  brothers  Charles  and  James  are  alive.  They  will 
cut  off  thy  brothers'  heads  when  they  can  catch 
them  !  And  thy  head,  too,  they  will  cut  off  at  last ! 
Therefore,  I  charge  thee,  do  not  be  made  a  king  by 
them."    And  the  little  duke  replied,  impulsively  but 


252 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


determinedly,  "  I  will  be  torn  in  pieces  first !  "  Then 
the  king  turned  to  Elizabeth,  and  left  with  her  his 
message  to  the  queen :  "  Tell  her,  sweet  heart,  I  loved 
her  to  the  last." 

After  the  kings  death  Oliver  Cromwell  governed 
England.  Many  of  his  followers  were  very  religious 
men,  carrying  their  religion  even  to  fanaticism ;  many 
more  were  unscrupulous,  ambitious  men,  covering 
their  schemes  with  a  pretence  of  piety.  Everything 
seemed  completely  changed.  Hypocrisy  and  cant 
were  now  the  fashion,  instead  of  gayety,  luxury,  and 
dissipation.  The  old  nobles  were  impoverished  and 
degraded,  while  the  meanest  and  vilest  of  the  popu- 
lace rose  to  posts  of  honor. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  times  for  men  to  change 
their  given  names  from  George  and  Arthur  and 
Harry  to  Zerubbabel,  Jeremiah,  Habakkuk,  and  even 
into  whole  phrases  taken  from  the  Bible,  making 
such  odd  combinations  as  Grace-be-here  Humgudg- 
eon,  Praise-God  Barebones,  Fight-the-good-fight-of- 
faith  Dolittle  Fly-debate  Ridaway,  and  others  even 
more  ridiculous.  The  factory  operative  who  had 
once  owned  Floss  served  in  Cromwell's  army,  and 
now  rejoiced  in  the   name   of  Vengeance- is-mine 


TWO  DOGS  OF  VAN  DYCK. 


253 


Quackenbos,  quite  forgetting  to  whom  the  Scripture 
imputes  these  words.  Since  his  discharge  from  the 
army  he  had  become  a  button-maker,  and  he  peti- 
tioned the  Parliament  to  have  the  little  Princess 
Elizabeth  indentured  to  him  as  an  apprentice.  His 
petition  was  granted ;  but  the  royal  child  never  under- 
went the  degradation,  for  she  died  of  grief  shortly 
after  the  execution  of  her  father.  On  the  day  that 
she  died  Floss  was  seen  digging  industriously  in  the 
garden,  at  the  same  time  giving  vent  to  piercing 
yelps.  The  dog  was  returned  to  her  former  master, 
who  put  her  upon  the  coarsest  of  diet  and  clipped 
her  silky  ears,  that  she  might  be  known  as  a  sup- 
porter of  Cromwell ;  for  his  followers  had  been  nick- 
named Crop-ears  by  the  Cavaliers. 

The  royal  family  had  friends  in  England  and  Scot- 
land, who  were  working  during 
this  time  with  all  their  might 
for  the  return  and  restoration  of 
Prince  Charlie.  At  length  he 
did  come  to  Scotland,  and  was 
crowned  king  in  the  Palace  of 
Holyrood,  in  Edinburgh.  In 
after  years  another  Charles  Stuart  came  in  similar  cir- 


254 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


cumstances,  and  found  the  same  support.  It  was  for 
him  that  the  popular  song,  "  Wha  '11  be  King  but 
Charlie  ?  "  was  written,  —  though  it  would  have  an- 
swered just  as  well  for  the  Prince  Charlie  of  our 
story,  —  and  expressed  the  wild  enthusiasm  of  the 
Highlanders  who  flocked  about  him. 

SONG. 

"  There 's  news  frae  Moirdart,  cam  yest're'en, 
Will  soon  gar  mony  ferlie ; 
For  ships  o'  war  hae  just  come  in, 
An'  landed  royal  Charlie. 

"  Come  thro'  the  heather,  around  him  gather, 
Ye  're  a'  the  welcomer  early  ; 
Around  him  cling  wi'  a'  your  kin, 
For  wha  '11  be  king  but  Charlie  ? 

"  The  Highland  clans,  wi'  sword  in  hand, 
Frae  John-O'Groat's  to  Airly, 
Hae  to  a  man  declared  to  stand 
Or  fa'  wi'  royal  Charlie. 

"  There 's  ne'er  a  lass  in  a'  the  land 
But  vows  baith  late  an'  early 
To  man  she  '11  ne'er  gie  heart  or  hand 
Wha  wadna  ficht  for  Charlie. 

"  Come  thro'  the  heather,  around  him  gather, 

Come  Ronald,  come  Donald,  come  a'  thegether, 
An'  crown  your  rightfu',  lawfu'  king; 
For  wha  '11  be  king  but  Charlie  ? " 


TWO  DOGS  OF  VAN  DYCK. 


255 


There  was  another  very  popular  one,  of  which  the 
refrain  ran, — 

"  Over  the  water  and  over  the  sea, 
And  over  the  water  to  Charlie  ; 
Come  weal,  come  woe,  we  '11  gather  and  go, 
And  live  or  die  with  Charlie." 

And  many  others  like  the  following :  — 

"As  Charlie  he  came  up  the  gate, 

His  face  shone  like  the  day: 
I  grat  to  see  the  lad  come  back 

That  had  been  lang  away. 
Then  ilka  bonny  lassie  sang, 

As  to  the  door  she  ran, 
'  Our  king  shall  hae  his  own  again, 

An'  Charlie  is  the  man  :  ' 
Out  ow'r  yon  moory  mountain, 

An'  down  the  craggy  glen, 
Of  naething  else  our  lassies  sing 

But  Charlie  and  his  men." 

Songs  reveal  the  popular  heart,  and  these  tell  how 
completely  it  was  bound  up  in  the  young  prince. 
Gathering  an  army  in  Scotland,  he  marched  upon 
London.  At  Worcester,  Cromwell  met  him  with  an 
army  twice  as  great,  and  attacked  him  on  all  sides. 
"  The  whole  Scottish  force  was  either  killed  or  taken 


256 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


prisoners."  Charlie  fled,  separating  himself  from  his 
companions,  and  for  six  weeks  wandered  a  fugitive  in 
different  disguises  and  in  various  places.  Sometimes 
he  was  harbored  by  Catholics ;  and  "  the  priests  hole, 


or  place  where  they  were  obliged  to  conceal  their  per- 
secuted priests,  was  employed  for  sheltering  their 
sovereign."    Many  houses  in  these  troublous  times 


TWO  DOGS  OF  VAN  DYCK. 


257 


contained  secret  staircases  and  sliding  panels,  through 
which  he  was  secretly  introduced  and  as  mysteriously 
spirited  away.  Once  he  hid  in  an  oak,  and  saw  the 
soldiers  who  were  in  search  of  him  come  up  and  stop 
under  it  to  consult  as  to  the  way  he  had  taken. 
"  When  wealth  was  offered  to  any  who  would  betray 
him,  —  when  death  was  denounced  against  all  who 
should  shelter  him,  —  cottagers  and  serving-men  kept 
his  secret  truly,  and  kissed  his  hand  under  his  mean 
disguise  with  as  much  reverence  as  if  he  had  been 
seated  on  his  ancestral  throne."  At  length  a  vessel 
was  found  at  Shoreham,  in  which  he  embarked,  and 
escaped  safely  to  Normandy.  Once  before  this  he 
found  himself  at  Stopford,  close  beset  by  Cromwell's 
soldiers.  As  he  slipped  into  the  courtyard  of  the 
grange,  he  was  nearly  thrown  to  the  ground  by  the 
caresses  of  the  old  mastiff  Brutus,  who  recognized 
him.  Quieting  the  dog  as  best  he  could,  he  crept 
into  his  kennel,  as  in  the  old  playful  days.  Shortly 
after,  the  soldiers  came  up  in  search  of  a  blood-hound 
kept  at  Stopford  Grange.  Having  found  the  animal, 
they  showed  him  a  gauntlet  which  had  belonged  to 
Charlie.  The  dog  sprang  at  once  toward  the  kennel 
in  which  the  king  was  concealed,  but  was  met  at  the 


258 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


door  by  Brutus,  who  engaged  him  in  savage  conflict. 
The  men  looked  on  stupidly  until  their  commander 
appeared.  He,  finding  them  engaged  in  a  dog-fight, 
—  at  that  time  a  prohibited  amusement,  —  shot  both 
dogs,  and  sharply  ordered  the  men  away,  without  dis- 
covering the  young  king.  We  can  imagine  how  he 
wept,  after  their  departure,  over  the  brave  dog  which 
had  saved  his  life  at  the  expense  of  its  own. 

Even  after  Charlie  left  the  country,  his  friends  did 
not  entirely  despair,  and  drinking-songs  like  the  fol- 
lowing were  still  sung:  — 

"  Brave  gallants,  stand  up, 

And  avaunt,  ye  base  carles  ! 
Were  there  death  in  the  cup, 

Here 's  a  health  to  King  Charles  ! 
Though  he  wanders  through  dangers, 

Unaided,  unknown, 
Dependent  on  strangers, 

Estranged  from  his  own ; 
Though  'tis  under  our  breath, 

Amidst  forfeits  and  perils, 
Here 's  to  honor  and  faith, 

And  a  health  to  King  Charles  ! 
Let  such  honors  abound 

As  the  time  can  afford, 
The  knee  on  the  ground, 

And  the  hand  on  the  sword ; 


TWO  DOGS  OF  VAN  DYCK. 


259 


But  the  time  shall  come  round 

When,  mid  lords,  dukes,  and  earls, 

The  loud  trumpets  shall  sound, 

1  Here 's  a  health  to  King  Charles  ! '  " 

After  the  death  of  Cromwell,  the  time  did  come 
round,  and  Charles  was  recalled  to  England  and  made 
king  by  the  act  of  the  people. 

One  evening,  as  he  strolled  sadly  in  the  garden  of 
Hampton  Court,  thinking  of  his  childhood,  he  ob- 
served a  dirty,  disfigured  little  dog  digging  persist- 
ently under  a  rosebush.  He  ordered  an  attendant  to 
drive  out  the  cur,  when  the  animal,  which  had  found 
something,  dragged  it  forward  and  laid  it,  fawning,  at 
his  feet.  Charles  bent  down  to  examine  the  object ; 
it  was  a  long  glove,  which  he  recognized  as  one  for- 
merly belonging  to  his  sister.  Then  he  looked  at  the 
dog  again,  and  saw  that  it  was  poor  little  Floss.  To 
have  made  the  story  more  touching,  Floss  should 
have  died  of  grief  for  her  mistress ;  but  she  had  lived 
to  a  good  old  age,  sharing  perhaps  the  hope  of  the 
land,  that  the  "  king  should  hae  his  own  again." 
When  she  did  die,  it  was  not  upon  plebeian  straw, 
but  on  the  downy,  gold-bedecked,  velvet  cushion  of 
former  years. 


260  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


Sir  Walter  Scott  tells  a  far  more  interesting  story 
of  the  hidings  of  King  Charles  II.  in  his  novel  of 
"  Woodstock."  In  this,  too,  a  dog,  like  Brutus,  fig- 
ures,—  a  great  Scotch  deer-hound  named  Bevis, 
which,  he  tells  us,  had  its  prototype  in  a  dog  of  his 
own,  given  him  by  the  Chief  of  Glengarry.  A  draw- 
ing of  this  dog,  which  was  afterward  engraved,  was 
made  by  Sir  Edwin  Landseer.  I  wish  that  I  might 
place  this  engraving,  connected  as  it  is  with  Prince 
Charlie  and  a  great  painter,  by  the  side  of  the  Two 
Dogs  of  Van  Dyck. 


BITUMEN. 


BITUMEN. 


THE    PAPYRUS  ROLL. 


ND  now  I  wonder  if  you  can 
imagine,"  asked  Tint,  engag- 
ingly, "what  that  little  mound 
of  dark  paint  just 
over  my  right  eye 
is  composed  of? " 

"It  looks  like 
tar,"  replied  Ruby, 
thoughtfully. 

"  Nearer  right 
than  I  should  have 


expected,"  rejoined 
Tint;  "  it 's  mummy." 

"  Mummy  !  "  repeated  Flossy,  in  astonishment ; 
"  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Just  this,"  explained  Tint;  "it  is  bitumen,  and 
bitumen  is  a  kind  of  pitch,  or,  as  you  said,  tar,  with 


264 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


which  the  Egyptians  daubed  the  wrappings  of  their 
mummies.  A  transparent  brown  paint  is  formed 
from  it,  very  fascinating  to  use,  as  certain  effects 
can  be  made  with  it  which  are  very  difficult  to  ob- 
tain in  any  other  way." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  asked  Flossy,  "  that  that 


stand  in  a  corner  of  his  room.  I  wish  you  would  tell 
me  about  her,  you  dear  Paint  Bogy.  You  must  know, 
if  you  have  something  to  do  with  all  colored  pictures, 
for  her  coffin  is  covered  with  gay  paintings.  The 
catalogue  says  they  tell  her  history,  though  all  that  it 


little  blot  of  bitumen  was  really 
once  in  a  mummy-coffin,  like  those 
in  the  '  Way  Collection '  at  the  Bos- 
ton Art  Museum  ?  There  is  one 
there,  Tint,  that  was  an  Egyptian 
princess,  with  her  face  all  gilded. 
Ruby  and  I  saw  her  one  Saturday. 
Ruby  said  she  made  him  think  of 
his  grandma's  old-fashioned  clock, 
that  stands  in  the  corner  of  her 
bedroom,  and  he  wished  the  Mu- 
seum folks  would  sell  the  princess 
to  him;  then  he  could  have  >her 


THE  PAPYRUS  ROLL. 


265 


sees  fit  to  repeat  is  that  she  was  a  lady  of  rank ;  and 
then  it  gives  a  prayer  translated  from  the  queer 
picture-writing.  I  should  like  to  be  able  to  read  it 
for  myself.  It  seems  just  like  the  illustrated  rebuses 
that  I  love  to  puzzle  out.    Is  it  so  very  hard  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  good-natured  Paint  Bogy,  "  it 
would  be  rather  hard  for  you  just  now ;  but  keep  on 
studying,  and  you  may  be  able  to  read  it  some  day. 
Girls  know  a  lot  more  than  they  used  to ;  and  I  don't 
despair  of  some  time  seeing  eleven-year-old  ones  who 
can  decipher  Egyptian  hieroglyphics  as  readily  as  you 
read  a  bar  of  music  to  one  of  your  Sunday-school 
hymns.  I  shall  be  very  glad  when  that  day  comes, 
for,  as  you  guessed,  I  am  the  direct  founder  of  the 
1  queer  picture-writing.'  If  you  want  an  explanation 
of  the  method,  turn  to  your  '  St.  Nicholas '  for  Janu- 
ary, 1877.  You  will  find  a  very  good  one  in  the 
Young  Contributors'  Department,  page  227.  You 
can  readily  imagine  that,  if  Egyptians  turned  even 
the  reading  part  of  their  books  into  pictures,  they  must 
have  been  an  extremely  art-loving  people.  Their  ar- 
tistic taste  showed  itself  not  only  in  painting,  but  in 
sculpture  and  architecture  as  well ;  and  the  more  the 
relics  which  they  have  left  are  studied,  the  more  we 


266  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


wonder  at  their  knowledge  and  skill.  When  you  hear 
artistic  people  raving  about  '  the  antique]  you  may  be 
sure  that  they  mean  some  broken-nosed  specimen  of 
Greek  or  Roman  sculpture ;  but  anything  Greek  or 
Roman  has  no  right  whatever  to  be  called  antique 
when  compared  with  Egypt.  Why,  only  think,  little 
ones,  the  Egyptians  painted  and  chiselled  and  builded 
thousands  of  years  before  Romulus  was  born,  or  Phid- 
ias taught  the  Greeks  the  meaning  of  art.  Thousands 
of  years  is  a  very  long  time.  It  is  not  two  thousand, 
you  know,  back  to  the  very  first  Christmas  ;  and  last 
year,  when  the  Centennial  made  old  things  fashion- 
able, people  thought  themselves  very  lucky  if  they 
could  show  a  portrait  of  one  of  their  ancestors 
painted  by  Stuart  or  Copley  one  hundred  years  ago. 
The  oldest  art  that  we  know  much  about  is  Egyptian 
art.  Some  of  its  specimens  are  very  beautiful  as  well 
as  old.  I  should  be  making  an  unpardonable  omis- 
sion not  to  find  a  savor  of  it  in  one  of  my  freckles. 

"  Then,  too,  we  have  very  little  of  the  literature  of 
Egypt,  and  nearly  all  that  we  know  of  her  history  has 
been  handed  down  to  us  by  Art. 

"  So  you  want  to  hear  about  the  princess  at  the  Art 
Museum  ?    She  did  not  belong,  in  one  sense,  to  the 


THE  PAPYRUS  ROLL. 


267 


first  families  of  Egypt.  I  mean  she  did  not  live  in 
the  time  of  the  pyramid-builders,  that  ancient  period 
of  Egypt's  history.  She  was  almost  a  modern,  being 
a  member  of  the  twenty-first  dynasty,  and  living  only 
about  a  thousand  years  'before  Christ.  Her  name 
was  Anchpefhir,  and  she  was  a  daughter  of  a  Pha- 
raoh who  made  his  seat  of  government  at  San,  or 
Tanis,  near  the  mouth  of  the  Nile. 

He  reign- 
ed over 
only  a 
small  part 
of  the 


■v 


country;  for  the  crafty  priests  at  the  magnificent 
temple  of  Thebes,  farther  up  the  Nile,  had  usurped 
the  royal  power,  and  caused  a  division  of  the  king- 
dom. The  poor  king  could  not  even  turn  to  the 
consolations  of  religion,  for  his  religion  had  been 
stolen  away  from  him  by  the  traitor  priests,  and  made 


268 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


into  a  means  of  exciting  his  subjects  to  rebellion.  It 
almost  seemed  to  him  sometimes  as  if  the  old  gods 
were  dead,  or  leagued  against  him.  Thus  brooding, 
he  would  spring  into  his  chariot,  and  drive  swiftly 
away  toward  the  open  desert,  faster  and  ever  faster, 
until  the  bitter  thoughts  that  stung  him  like  a 
swarm  of  wasps  should  be  left  behind. 

"Anchpefhir  would  wander  with  her  maidens  in  the 
palm-grove  by  the  side  of  the  noble  Nile,  as  a  daugh- 
ter of  another  Pharaoh  had  done  long  before ;  or 
would  take  the  fan  of  ostrich-plumes  from  the  slave 
who  tended  her  little  brother  Psusenes,  as  he  lay  upon 
his  silken  cushions,  —  for  he  was  a  cripple,  —  and  fan 
him,  narrating,  at  the  same  time,  stories  of  Egypt's 
ancient  pride  and  greatness.  As  the  boy  listened,  he 
would  press  his  thin,  yellow  fingers,  that  quivered 
with  excitement  like  flakes  of  gold-leaf,  against  his 
throbbing  temples  and  sunken,  feverish  cheeks. 
Then  Anchpefhir  would  tell  of  Luxor  and  Karnak, 
with  its  half-mile  avenue  of  sphinxes  and  Hall  of 
Columns  ;  of  hundred-gated  Thebes  ;  of  Memnon  and 
his  brother,  the  two  great  sitting  statues  that  every 
morning  responded  to  the  touch  of  light  with  gentle 
music ;  of  the  immense  temple  of  the  Ramesseum ; 


THE  PAPYRUS  ROLL. 


269 


of  the  sacred  island  of  Philae,  with  its  palms  and 
temples ;  and  of  the  tombs  of  the  kings,  — '  and  all 
of  these,  all,  in  the  possession  of  the  rebellious 
priests !  But  we  have  the  pyramids,'  she  would 
add,  1  and  we  alone  the  faith  of  the  pyramid-builders. 
Father  says  the  priests  have  degraded  the  old  relig- 
ion, and  are  leading  the  people  astray ;  that  the 
ancient  faith  of  Egypt  was  something  noble  and  sub- 
lime ;  the  sacred  animals  and  the  images  were  only 
symbols,  but  the  people  have  forgotten  this,  and  the 
priests  do  not  teach  them  correctly ;  they  are  now  all 
idolaters.  He  says  that  our  fathers  commanded  us  to 
embalm  the  dead,  and  thus  impress  upon  our  minds 
the  immortality  of  the  soul  and  the  resurrection  of  the 
body.  But  the  priests  teach  that  at  death  the  soul 
passes  into  some  animal,  and  now  the  people  pray  to 
bulls  and  cats  and  serpents,  and  have  forgotten  the 
service  of  Truth.  Some  day  the  people  shall  be 
taught  again  the  true  faith,  for  you  know  the  augury 
said  that  I  should  possess  palaces  and  cities  some 
day.' 

" '  Do  not  speak  of  the  augury,'  said  Psusenes, 
with  a  deep  scowl ;  '  you  know  our  father  has  forbid- 
den that  any  one  should  so  much  as  mention  it,  and 


2 JO  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 

you  have  yourself  promised  to  die  rather  than  ful- 
fil it.' 

" '  I  have  promised  to  die  rather  than  marry  Shi- 
shack,'  said  the  girl ;  '  but  that  may  not  be  what  the 
augury  means,  after  all.' 


" '  What  else  could  it  mean  ? '  asked  the  young 
prince,  moodily  ;  '  what  were  its  words  ? ' 

" 1  That  I  should  marry  a  priestly  king,  who  should 
build  a  glorious  temple  and  establish  the  true  worship 


THE  PAPYRUS  ROLL. 


271 


of  Osiris,  with  the  simple  rites  of  the  pyramid-build- 
ers ;  that  I  should  be  the  most  splendid  queen  of  my 
time ;  battles  should  be  fought,  palaces  builded,  and 
poems  written  in  my  honor,  whose  fame  should  sur- 
vive the  ages ;  that  I  should  be  loved  more  than 
woman  was  ever  loved,  and  my  husband  be  the  most 
celebrated  of  kings.' 

" 1  And  Shishack,  the  son  of  the  high-priest  at 
Thebes,  has  heard  of  the  augury  and  appropriated 
it  to  himself.  You  know  that  a  solemn  convocation 
of  the  nation  was  held  at  Karnak,  and  Shishack 
spread  the  augury  before  the  oracle  in  the  temple, 
who  ratified  it ;  the  people  followed  the  example, 
crying,  "  An  undivided  Egypt  and  the  daughter  of 
Pharaoh  ! " ' 

"'I  know  it,'  replied  Anchpefhir;  'but  I  do  not 
believe  the  augury  meant  Shishack.  Do  you  remem- 
ber, Psusenes,  the  visit  of  the  Princess  Maqueda  ? ' 

'"Yes,  the  Hindu  girl,  who  kept  asking  conun- 
drums, and  puzzled  us  all  with  fables  and  enigmas 
which  she  wished  us  to  explain.  She  visited  us  two 
years  ago.  They  say  that  she  is  Queen  of  the  Sabe- 
ans  now.    But  what  of  her,  sister  ? ' 

" '  She  said  that  she  was  visiting  every  nation  under 


272 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


the  sun  in  search  of  the  greatest,  the  richest,  and  the 
wisest  king  in  the  whole  earth,  for  she  was  determined 
to  marry  no  other.  She  had  seen  Shishack,  but  he 
was  not  the  one  she  sought.  I  told  her  of  the  au- 
gury, and  she  asked  me  why  I  did  not  go  in  search 
of  this  wonderful  prince.  ''.Because,"  I  answered,  "if 
I  am  very  good,  he  will  hear  of  my  fame  and  come  in 
search  of  me,  and  that  will  be  better  than  to  have 
sought  for  him."  "  And  what,"  said  she,  "if  I  should 
find  him  first  ?  "  "  It  will  be  better,"  I  answered,  "  to 
deserve  and  not  to  have  than  to  have  and  not  deserve. 
Besides,  the  King  of  Heaven,  the  Judge  and  the 
Avenger,  always  does  give  to  every  one  what  he 
merits ;  and  if  you  find  the  prince  first,  it  will  be 
because  you  are  the  most  deserving."' 

"  One  day,  not  long  after  this  conversation,  some- 
thing remarkable  happened,  —  something  destined  to 
turn  the  whole  current  of  the  Princess  Anchpefhirs 
life. 

"  While  seated  at  her  window  she  was  summoned 
to  the  presence  of  her  royal  father  to  hear  that  the 
augury  was.  about  to  be  fulfilled ;  a  king  who  an- 
swered to  its  description  had  proposed  for  her  hand 
and  been  accepted. 


THE  PAPYRUS  ROLL. 


273 


"  '  Not  Shishack,  father,  —  not  the  usurper  ? '  cried 
Anchpefhir. 

"'It  is  a  foreign  prince,'  replied  her  father;  'and 
in  wedding  him  you  will  ally  a  powerful  nation  to 


Egypt,  and,  while  securing  a  brilliant  future  to  your- 
self, will  leave  the  kingdom  to  your  brother.  He 
whom  you  are  to  wed,  O  Anchpefhir,  is  the  great  and 
noble  Solomon.' 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


" '  But  I  do  not  understand,  O  my  father,'  replied 
the  princess.  '  The  Israelites  were  our  slaves  long 
ago,  — were  they  not  ?  How  can  a  people  who  have 
been  slaves  be  noble?'  (Poor  little  girl!  the  same 
question  has  been  asked  in  our  day  by  heads  that  are 
older  and  should  be  wiser  than  hers.)  '  And  their 
religion,  —  it  is  very  different  from  ours,  they  say. 
How,  then,  can  it  be  the  true  religion  that  the  au- 
gury foretold  ? '  (Another  question  which  has  puz- 
zled the  brains  of  other  good  heterodox  and  orthodox 
people,  who  were  neither  Egyptians  nor  Jews.) 

"  *  Hearken,  Anchpefhir,'  said  Pharaoh,  after  a 
pause ;  4  what  I  have  done  has  been  advisedly  done. 
That  you  may  understand  my  motives,  know,  my 
daughter,  that  the  race  of  the  Hebrews  is  as  old  as 
our  own.  That  they  have  been  our  captives  argues 
only  the  fortunes  of  war.  Our  history  tells  us  they 
have  always  been  regarded  as  our  equals  by  our  an- 
cestors. In  the  days  of  the  pyramid-builders,  one 
Zaphnath-paaneah,  the  Revealer  of  Secrets,  whom 
the  Hebrews  call  Joseph,  was  made  Viceroy,  though 
he  belonged  to  this  very  race.  He  was  a  mighty 
magician,  like  unto  this  later  Solomon  (who,  we 
know,  governs  all  the  jinns  and  genii,  and  is  King 


THE  PAPYRUS  ROLL. 


275 


of  the  Afreets,  Wizards,  Fairies,  Demons,  and  all 
Wonder-working  Spirits).  Zaphnath-paaneah  was 
even  admitted  into  the  class  of  the  priesthood, 
marrying  Asenath,  daughter  of  Potiphera,  priest  of 
On.  A  princess  of  our  race,  daughter  of  a  Pharaoh 
greater  than  thy  father,  adopted  a  Hebrew  baby, 
bringing  him  up  as  her  own  son  and  heir-apparent 
to  the  throne.  She  had  him  educated  at  the  College 
for  Priests,  at  Heliopolis,  and  initiated  into  all  the 
deepest  mysteries  and  secrets  of  our  religion.  He, 
too,  became  a  magician  more  powerful  than  any  of 
our  own,  and  by  his  enchantments  he  delivered  his 
people  out  of  our  hand.  With  his  fellow-countrymen 
he  carried  away  to  the  new  land  the  most  sacred  rites 
of  our  religion,  and  all  its  noblest  and  loftiest  ideas. 
His  successors  have  kept  the  religion  purer  than  our 
priests  have;  and  Egypt's  loftiest,  ancient  faith  is 
found  no  longer  in  Egypt,  but  exists  woven,  almost 
without  change,  into  the  new  fabric  of  the  Hebrew 
religion.' 

"  Pharaoh's  assertion  may  sound  strangely  to  us, 
but  it  was  true.  '  God  has  made  of  one  blood  all 
nations,  that  they  should  seek  the  Lord,  if  haply  they 
might  feel  after  him  and  find  him,  though  he  be  not 
far  from  every  one  of  us.' 


276  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


"  Here  is  a  part  of  a  prayer  which  Anchpefhir  was 
taught.  It  may  serve  to  show  you  that  she  and  her 
people  were  nearer  to  being  Christians  than  you  have 
supposed. 

« <  PRAYER. 

" '  Hail,  thou  Lord  of  the  length  of  times.'  (Is  not  that 
like  our  Jehovah,  1 the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  forever'  ?) 
'  King  of  gods,  whose  soul  is  made  for  watching,  who  is  con- 
tinually showering  happiness  upon  his  creatures,  —  from  him 
descend  the  waters  of  the  Nile,  from  him  proceeds  the  wind.' 
(Here,  again;  can  this  be  any  other  than  he  'from  whom 
cometh  down  every  good  and  every  perfect  gift'?)  'He  fills 
the  realms  of  space,  because  the  stars  that  move  therein  obey 
him  in  the  height  of  heaven,  —  the  constellations  which  move 
onward  from  his  dwelling-place,  as  well  as  the  constellations 
which  remain  at  rest.'  (When  Solomon  first  heard  his  wife 
repeating  this,  it  must  have  seemed  very  natural  to  him.  Per- 
haps he  joined  her  with  '  Praise  ye  him,  sun  and  moon  ; 
praise  him,  all  ye  stars  of  light  ;  praise  him,  ye  heaven  of 
heavens  ! ')  '  The  whole  earth  gives  glory  to  him,  beautiful 
and  lovely.  All  who  see  him,  of  whatever  country,  respect 
and  love  him.  He  it  is  who  executes  judgment  in  the  two 
worlds '  (heaven  and  earth).  '  He  is  the  praise  of  his  Father. 
Of  mighty  arm,  he  overthrows  the  impure  ;  he  breaks  down 
the  barriers  of  the  wicked  ;  he  fabricated  this  world  with  his 


THE  PAPYRUS  ROLL. 


277 


hand.  That  which  thy  Father  ordained  for  thee,  —  let  it  be 
done  according  to  his  word.' 

"  I  have  not  filled  out  the  parallels,  but  they  are  so 
evident  that  nearly  every  Sabbath-school  scholar  can 
give  them  from  memory.  It  will  be  a  good  exercise, 
some  Sunday  afternoon,  to  find  Bible  verses  corre- 
sponding to  each  sentence. 

"And  so  it  was  decided  that  Anchpefhir  should 
marry  King  Solomon.  As  we  trace  her  history  from 
.the  time  of  her  betrothal,  we  find  that  it  ran  in  the 
same  channels  as  the  story  of  a  modern  young  lady 
in  similar  circumstances.  Anchpefhir  had  her  love- 
letters  and  engagement-ring,  her  wedding  presents 
and  her  wedding  tour,  her  honeymoon  and  begin- 
ning of  housekeeping  in  a  new  house  of  her  own, 
where  she  received  calls,  directed  her  garden,  and 
kept  a  diary  until  household  cares  crowded  it  out. 
As  for  the  love-letters,  we  have  extracts  from  them 
in  a  song,  or  rather  a  collection  of  poems,  which  Solo- 
mon wrote.  '  Rise  up,  my  love,  my  fair  one,  and 
come  away,'  pleads  one  of  these  letters ;  '  for,  lo !  the 
winter  is  past,  the  rain  is  over  and  gone,  the  flowers 
appear  in  the  earth,  the  time  of  the  singing  of  birds 
is  come.    Let  me  see  thy  countenance,  let  me  hear 


278 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


thy  voice  ;  for  sweet  is  thy  voice,  and  thy  counte- 
nance is  comely.  Arise,  my  love,  my  fair  one,  and 
come  away.'  This  must  have  been  written  to  her  in 
Egypt,  before  '  the  day  of  his  espousals,  in  the  day  of 
the  gladness  of  his  heart.'  Perhaps  it  was  sent  on 
Valentine's  Day ;  at  any  rate,  it  was  in  the  glad 
spring-time.  And  her  wedding  presents?  Well,  in 
the  first  place,  it  was  to  be  expected  that  Pharaoh 
would  give  his  daughter  a  handsome  outfit.  He 
called  out  his  troops,  went  up  to  Gezer  of  the  Ca- 
naanites,  —  a  city  on  the  frontiers  of  Palestine  that 
had  been  a  continual  trouble  to  the  Israelites,  —  con- 
quered it,  and  gave  it  to  his  daughter  as  a  dowry  city. 
Solomon's  present  was  a  magnificent  palace  of  costly 
stones,  with  a  '  Porch  of  Pillars,'  that  must  have  re- 
minded her  of  the  1  Hall  of  Columns '  in  the  Egyptian 
temple,  where  the  capitals  were  of  the  drooping  buds 
of  the  lotus-lilies ;  for  here,  too,  1  the  chapiters  that 
were  upon  the  top  of  the  pillars  were  of  lily-work.' 
But  the  father  and  bridegroom  were  not  the  only 
ones  who  gave  wedding  presents.  Solomon's  friends 
greeted  her  upon  her  arrival,  'the  daughter  of  Tyre' 
was  there  with  a  gift,  and  the  rich  among  the  people 
entreated  her  favor.    Her  jewels  were  very  costly  and 


THE  PAPYRUS  ROLL. 


279 


beautiful.  Solomon  writes  of  her :  '  Thy  neck  is  like 
the  tower  of  David,  builded  for  an  armory,  whereon 
there  hang  a  thousand  bucklers,  all  shields  of  mighty 
men.'  Does  this  remind  you  of  the  heavy  necklaces 
that  ladies  wear  nowadays,  from  which  are  suspended 
four  or  five  lockets  as  heavy  as  padlocks  ?  Necklaces 
not  unlike  these  are  found  in  the  mummy-cases  of 
Egyptian  ladies  of  rank,  —  golden  bees  or  beetles  or 
grasshoppers,  linked  together  by  chains  decorated  with 
gems,  turquoise,  carnelian,  and  lapis-lazuli.  As  far 
back  as  the  time  of  Isaac,  Rebecca  had  her  engage- 
ment-ring, and  it  is  not  probable  that  Solomon  forgot 
so  essential  an  item.  Very  likely, 
however,  instead  of  a  trifling  finger- 
ring,  Anchpefhir's  was  a  bracelet 
or  armlet  worn  above  the  elbow, 
of  massive  gold  set  with  gems,  and 
containing  a  '  pozy '  or  motto  en- 
graved inside,  —  perhaps  this  very 
fragment  from  his  love-poem  :  '  Set 
me  as  a  seal  upon  thine  arm,  for 
love  is  strong  as  death.'  The  Queen 
of  Sheba,  too,  whom  Anchpefhir 
had  known  as  the  puzzle-loving  Hindu  girl,  sent 


28o 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


many  costly  gifts,  —  among  them,  Arabian  tradition 
records,  a  thousand  carpets  wrought  with  gold  and 
silver.  Perhaps  they  were  spread  upon  the  floors 
of  the  bridal  palace.  The  day  Solomon  conducted 
Anchpefhir  to  her  palace  was  a  gala  day  in  Jerusa- 
lem ;  but  perhaps  in  the  midst  of  the  festivities,  the 
heart  that  beat  under  the  glorious  clothing  of  wrought 
gold  and  raiment  of  needle-work  was  just  a  little 
homesick.  Her  cheek  would  have  turned  pale,  as 
she  thought  of  home  and  its  inmates,  had  it  not  been 
touched  with  some  ancient  rouge,  for  Solomon  had 
placed  at  her  disposal  '  all  the  powders  of  the  mer- 
chants.' At  any  rate,  Solomon  seems  to  have  feared 
that  she  might  be  unhappy.  The  greeting  song 
which  he  composed  for  the  Sons  of  Korah  to  sing 
as  the  bride  entered  her  new  home  contained  these 
words :  '  Forget  also  thine  own  people  and  thy  father's 
house.  Instead  of  thy  fathers  shall  be  thy  children, 
whom  thou  mayest  make  princes  in  all  the  earth. 
With  gladness  and  rejoicing  shall  the  virgins  [her 
companions]  be  brought;  they  shall  enter  into  the 
king's  palace.'  And  well  did  he  fulfil  the  promise 
made  upon  that  occasion :  '  I  will  make  thy  name  to 
be  remembered  in  all  generations.'   'For  all  that  came 


THE  PAPYRUS  ROLL. 


281 


into  Solomon's  heart  to  make,  or  to  do,'  —  so  says  the 
sacred  chronicle,  — '  he  prosperously  effected.' 

"  After  the  wedding  and  the  honeymoon,  came  the 
prosaic  housekeeping  in  the  palace,  which  we  have 
partly  described.  It  was  wainscoted  with  cedar;  and 
the  lattice  of  sandal-wood,  intricately  carved  in  Orien- 
tal arabesques,  looked  out  upon  Solomon's  vast  botan- 
ical gardens.  On  their  terraces  grew  every  known 
flower  and  fruit ;  plashing  fountains  fell  in  basins 
stocked  with  brilliant  fish ;  peacocks  lazily  spread 
their  magnificent  fans  upon  the  walls ;  the  impish 
apes  pelted  each  other  with  pomegranates  and  roses. 
In  his  state  chariot  with  silver  pillars,  golden  floor, 
and  hangings  of  purple,  drawn  by  graceful  horses 
that  had  once  been  Pharaoh's,  Solomon  came  from 
his  ivory  throne  guarded  by  the  twelve  golden  lions, 
to  write  here  his  one  thousand  and  five  poems,  his 
three  thousand  proverbs,  his  botany,  and  his  natural 
history.  No  doubt  they  were  very  happy.  But  the 
young  bride  must  have  passed  some  lonely  evenings 
while  Solomon  was  away  at  the  Masonic  Lodge ;  for 
tradition  says  that  he  was  a  Master  Mason,  and  had 
taken  all  the  degrees,  from  the  simple  craftsman  to 
the  Knight  Templar.    Solomon's  being  a  Mason  had 


282 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


its  good  side,  too,  for  of  course  his  wife  went  to  the 
ball  every  St.  John's  Day ;  besides,  she  could  amuse 
herself  by  dressing  up  in  her  husband's  regalia  when 
she  felt  sure  that  he  was  not  likely  to  come  in  upon 
her  suddenly. 

"  Even  in  her  royal  life  that  bugbear  of  modern 
brides  intruded  itself,  —  the  bore  of  receiving  calls. 
The  curious  Maqueda  came  from  distant  Sheba  to 
see  if  Solomon  was  the  Prince  Charmer  of  her 
dreams.  She  failed  to  puzzle  him  with  her  enigmas, 
or  with  the  exploits  which  tradition  says  she  de- 
manded that  he  should  perform. 

" '  For  he  threaded  the  diamond,  pierced  the  pearl, 
And  broke  the  heart  of  the  Hindu  girl.' 

"  The  papyrus  roll  on  which  this  diary  of  a  princess 
was  written  has  been  lost,  like  so  many  other  valuable 
papers.  Perhaps  Solomon  caused  this  record  of  a 
happy  life  to  be  buried  with  her,  —  laid  with  his  love- 
letters  in  her  slender  hand,  that  she  might  clasp  them 
to  her  heart  in  that  long,  last  sleep.  We  do  not  know 
when  she  died.  We  only  know  that  Solomon  in  his 
old  age  became  cynical  and  bitter ;  that  he  thought 
the  world  had  grown  hollow ;  he  ceased  writing  love- 


THE  PAPYRUS  ROLL. 


283 


songs  and  devoted  himself  to  sermons,  whose  burden 
was,  '  Vanity  of  vanities !  All  is  vanity.'  Could  life 
have  seemed  so  to  him  while  he  still  'lived  joyfully 
with  the  wife  of  his  youth  '  ?  As  a  boy  of  twenty- 
two  he  began  his  glorious  reign,  and  Anchpefhir  must 
have  died  ere  Solomon  could  have  said  that.  Life  for 
him  afterward  was  but  vexation  of  spirit.  Meantime 
there  was  a  revolution  in  Egypt.  Pharaoh  slept  with 
his  fathers,  little  Psusenes  dying  too  soon  to  feel  the 
crushing  weight  of  an  imperial  crown.  Shishack,  the 
son  of  the  high-priest  at  Thebes,  became  King  of 
United  Egypt.  He  remembered  the  slight  which 
Anchpefhir  had  given  him  in  her  marriage.  In  the 
reign  succeeding  Solomon's  he  carried  the  horrors  of 
war  into  Palestine,  besieging  and  taking  Jerusalem, 
and  carrying  away  the  treasures  of  the  Lord's  house 
and  of  the  king's  house.  With  them,  doubtless,  went 
the  mummied  form  of  Anchpefhir,  to  take  her  place 
at  last  among  the  kings  and  queens  of  Egypt  in  one 
of  the  mausoleums  of  Thebes. 

"Ages  have  passed  away  since  Solomon  and  Anch- 
pefhir, Shishack  and  Maqueda,  lived.  As  Solomon 
himself  wrote,  '  Their  love  and  their  hatred  and  their 
envy  is  now  perished,  and  the  memory  of  them  is  for- 


284 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


gotten.'  Only  short  human  lives,  but  by  the  magic 
pencil  of  Art  we  are  brought  into  close  sympathy 
with  those  who  lived  and  loved  as  intensely  as  we 
live  and  love  now.  '  Art  is  long,  though  time  is  fleet- 
ing.' The  parchments  with  Anchpefhir's  cartouch, 
or  seal,  have  been  stolen  by  some  rifling  hand,  greedy 
of  the  gold  in  Solomon's  betrothal-ring  which  lay  near 
them ;  but  the  paintings  upon  the  mummy-case  show 
us  to-day  the  picture  of  Anchpefhir,  supported  by 
Truth,  pleading  her  cause  before  Osiris  the  Judge. 
Hathor  pours  for  her  the  Water  of  Life.  There  is  a 
prayer,  too,  in  the  picture-language,  which  might  be 
translated  thus  :  — 

" 1  When  her  barge  is  brought  to  the  Presence  Divine, 
May  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  o'er  her  shine ! 
And  pour,  O  Hathor,  bending  near, 
The  Water  of  Life  for  Anchpefhir.'  " 


PRUSSIAN  BLUE. 


PRUSSIAN  BLUE. 

THE  CLOCK  AND  THE  FOUNTAIN. 


OUR  next  freckle  is  just  the 
color  of  my  father's  socks,"  said 
Flossy,  as  Tint  mounted  the 
models  stand  for  another  conver- 
sation, and  then  both  she  and 
Ruby  Rose  laughed  long  and  riotously.  The  occa- 
sion of  their  mirth  was  one  of  Mamma  Tangle- 
skein's  absences  of  mind  which  had  resulted  in  Papa 
Tangleskein's  dark  blue  socks  appearing  on  a  very 
public  occasion. 


288  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


Mamma  Tangleskein  was  a  fine  singer,  and  she 
had  been  asked  to  take  part  in  an  amateur  concert, 
given  in  behalf  of  some  charity.  Her  part  was  a 
prominent  one,  and  she  was  very  handsomely  dressed 
in  a  light  silk  dress  trimmed  with  point-lace ;  her 
boots  matched  her  costume  exactly.  As  the  night 
was  snowy  she  decided  to  protect  them  with  a  pair 
of  her  husband's  socks.  It  happened  ludicrously 
enough  that  with  her  slow  process  of  thought  she 
had  not  arrived  at  the  necessity  of  removing  them 
when  her  turn  came  to  sing ;  she  consequently  ap- 
peared upon  the  stage  in  a  substantial  pair  of  blue 
yarn  stockings,  with  white  heels  and  toes  showing 
conspicuously  beneath  the  dainty  lace-trimmed  folds 
of  her  silken  robe.  Fortunately  the  stage  was  not 
a  high  one,  and  Mamma  Tangleskein's  feet  were 
visible  only  to  those  in  the  front  seats,  which  were 
nearly  filled  by  the  Tangleskeins  and  the  Roses. 

After  Flossy's  and  Ruby's  mirth  had  subsided, 
Tint  began  his  story. 

"  Albrecht  Diirer  Blumengarten,"  said  he,  "  was 
a  decorator  at  the  Dresden  manufactory  of  porce- 
lain. He  was  a  tall,  heavily  made  young  man,  with 
a  flowing  golden  beard.     His  face  was  decidedly 


THE  CLOCK  AND  THE  FOUNTAIN.  289 


handsome,  though  the  first  impression  which  it  gave 
was  not  of  beauty,  but  of  absolute  purity ;  only  clear 
thoughts  could  be  hidden  behind  that  broad  white 
forehead,  and  those  clear  frank  eyes.    The  impres- 


of  the  credit  for  this  virtue  was  due  his  mother,  who 
was  his  laundress.  She  was  never  happy  unless 
doing  something  for  him ;  whenever  she  found  her- 
self at  leisure  she  gathered  his  shirts  into  a  bundle, 
and  trudged  away  to  the  water-side,  washing  them 


2gO  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


there  in  one  of  the  queer  little  houses  by  the  river. 
The  good  woman's  life  had  been  full  of  toil,  but 
Art  had  blossomed  close  beside  her;  she  was  happy 
that  her  husband  and  son  could  live  in  a  different 
world  from  her  own.  She  was  a  widow  now;  her 
husband  had  been  an  engraver,  loving  Art  with  all 
his  soul,  though  he  never  passed  beyond  its  mechan- 
ical processes.  The  happiest  era  of  his  life  came 
one  summer  when  he  was  at  work  engraving  some 
of  the  works  of  Germany's  great  master,  Albrecht 
Diirer.  That  summer  his  son  was  born,  and  he 
gave  him  the  great  artist's  name.  The  engravings 
were  pinned  against  the  wall  over  the  little  table 
where  his  son  decorates  the  delicate  Dresden  ware. 
One  of  the  pictures  is  called  The  Knight  and  Death. 
The  knight  is  riding  through  a  valley ;  close  beside 
him  rides  the  dreadful  form  of  Death,  with  serpents 
to  represent  its  sting,  twined  in  his  hair.  Ruskin 
has  given  the  following  graphic  description  of  the 
group  :  — 

" '  Death  holds  up  the  hour-glass,  and  looks  earnestly  in 
the  knight's  face.  Behind  him  follows  Sin  ;  but  Sin  pow- 
erless ;  he  has  been  conquered  and  passed  by,  but  follows 
still.    Torn  wings  hang  useless  from  his  shoulders,  and  he 


THE  CLOCK  AND  THE  FOUNTAIN.         29 1 


carries  a  spear  with  two  hooks,  for  catching  as  well  as 
wounding.  The  knight  does  not  heed  him,  nor  even  Death, 
though  he  is  conscious  of  the  presence  of  the  last.  He 
rides  quietly,  his  bridle  firm  in  his  hand,  and  his  lips  set 
close  in  a  slight,  sorrowful  smile,  for  he  hears  what  Death 
is  saying ;  and  hears  it  as  the  words  of  a  messenger  who 
brings  pleasant  tidings,  thinking  to  bring  evil  ones.  A 
little  branch  of  delicate  heath  is  twisted  round  his  helmet. 
His  horse  trots  proudly  and  straight,  its  head  high.  But 
the  horse  of  Death  stoops  its  head,  and  its  rein  catches  the 
little  bell  which  hangs  from  the  knight's  horse-bridle,  mak- 
ing it  toll  as  a  passing  bell.' 

"  Albrecht  Durer  Blumengarten  knew  the  picture 
by  heart;  to  him  it  meant  all  that  Ruskin  describes 
and  a  great  deal  more,  for  with  his  name  he  had 
inherited  the  true  artistic  instinct.  As  a  boy  he 
dreamt  of  being  a  great  artist  like  Durer,  but  long 
before  he  had  completed  his  course  of  study  the 
father  died,  and  he  knew  that  he  must  wed  his 
talent  to  some  industry  that  would  support  his 
mother  and  little  sisters.  And  so,  thinking  that  if 
Durer  could  bear  to  be  apprenticed  to  a  goldsmith, 
Art  could  spare  his  poorer  worship,  he  became  a 
china-decorator,  spreading  flowers  in  garlands  on 
beautiful  vases,  or  strewing  them  in  dainty  sprigs 


292 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


on  plates  of  almost  transparent  thinness.  To  many 
a  young  man  a  position  as  decorator  at  the  Dresden 
Porcelain  works  would  have  seemed  a  niche  suffi- 
ciently high  in  the  temple  of  Art,  for  the  manufactory 
had  a  glorious  past,  and  numbered  among  its  deco- 
rations many  copies  of  masterpieces  of  the  Dutch 
and  French  schools,  hardly  inferior  in  merit  to  the 
originals  themselves.  In  its  palmy  days,  during  the 
early  part  of  the  eighteenth  century,  it  was  noted 
among  the  nations  for  the  excellence  of  its  groups 
and  figures,  for  the  delicacy  of  its  lace  patterns, 
for  clock-cases  and  vases  exquisitely  painted,  and 
candelabras  that  have  never  been  equalled.  But 
the  time  when  the  manufactory  excited  the  envy 
of  Napoleon  and  Frederick  the  Great  had  passed; 
it  was  no  longer  alone,  or  even  preeminent  in  its 
work.  Albrecht  Blumengarten  could  not  hope  for 
fame  in  his  career,  yet  he  did  not  have  the  appear- 
ance of  a  disappointed  man.  '  There  are  some 
things  in  life  better  than  fame,'  he  said  to  himself, 
and  then  he  thanked  God  that  He  had  given  him 
so  flowery  a  path  to  tread.  He  hoped  humbly  that 
the  flowers  which  he  painted  might  bring  cheer  and 
happiness  to  other  hearts. 


THE  CLOCK  AND  THE  FOUNTAIN.  293 


"  The  flower  he  loved  most  and  painted  often- 
est  was  the  forget-me-not.  It  made  him  think  of 
Gretchen ;  she  was  the  gardeners  daughter,  and 
stood  each  market-day  before  her  cart  in  the  platz, 
tying  up  little  love-knots,  and 
selling  them  to  the  passers-by. 
There  was  always  sure  to  be 
just  back  of  her  small  ear,  where 
the  heavy  yellow  braid  started  yi 
for  its  long  plunge  down  her 
curved  neck  and  well  formed 
shoulders,  and  just  above  the 
black  velvet  bodice,  a  little 
cluster  of  forget-me-nots.  The 
flowers  matched  her  eyes  in 
color,  and  in  their  expression 
of  wide-open  innocence.  Al- 
brecht  went  often  to  Gretchen's 
cart  to  select  flowers  to  copy, 
and  whether  he  bought  a  double 
handful,  or  was  too  critical  to  HI 
be  pleased,  the  knot  of  blue 
flowers  in  Gretchen's  bodice  was  usually  trans- 
ferred to  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  and  he  went  away 


294  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


singing  a  little  German  song  too  sweet  to  be  trans- 
lated. They  were  not  rich  enough  yet  to  be  mar- 
ried, but  Albrecht  worked  steadily,  and  just  now 
there  was  a  hope  of  increasing  his  earnings.  The 
Princess  von  Hochgebirge  had  visited  the  manu- 
factory to  purchase  ornaments  for  a  new  hall  in 
her  castle.  She  was  very  fastidious ;  nothing  suited 
her  highness ;  she  could  not  even  be  persuaded  to 
order  from  any  models  shown  her.  She  wished 
something  unique,  different  from  anything  which 
had  hitherto  appeared  in  the  art ;  and  her  visit 
resulted  in  the  offer  of  several  prizes  to  the  design- 
ers and  decorators  for  different  specimens  of  work. 
There  was  one  premium  for  a  fountain,  to  be  placed 
in  the  conservatory  opening  from  the  hall,  another 
for  the  clock  candelabra  and  other  mantel  orna- 
ments, and  still  another  for  two  large  vases.  The 
work  was  to  be  finished  in  two  years.  Albrecht 
determined  to  try  for  the  first  premium,  the  one 
offered  for  the  fountain.  He  modelled  the  figure 
of  a  fisher-boy  crouching  beneath  a  rock,  as  though 
taking  refuge  beneath  it  from  the  rain,  which  was 
to  be  represented  by  the  falling  spray ;  one  hand 
grasped  his  fishing-rod,  and  the  figure  was  bent  nearly 


THE  CLOCK  AND  THE  FOUNTAIN.  295 


to  the  surface  of  the  water,  into  whose  depths  he 
seemed  cautiously  peering,  expressing  intense  inter- 
est. '  They  will  probably  have  goldfish  in  the  ba- 
sin,' thought  Albrecht,  '  and  that  will  help  carry 
out  the  illusion.'  The  figure  was  just  completed 
when  the  Franco-Prussian  war  broke  out.  Albrecht 
had  little  interest  in  the  quarrel,  and  no  heart  for 
fighting;  his  heart  was  in  his  work.  Just  now, 
more  than  ever,  he  did  not  wish  to  be  interrupted 
in  it.  No  one  knew  how  long  the  war  would  last, 
whether  he  could  return  in  time  to  finish  his  foun- 
tain, or  whether  indeed,  if  he  went,  he  would  ever 
return  at  all.  He*  was  not  absolutely  obliged  to  go, 
and  yet  Albrecht  felt  that  honor  and  duty  to  his 
country  called  him.  It  was  a  hard  struggle ;  perhaps 
he  would  not  have  gone  at  all,  the  thought  of  death, 
and  what  it  meant  to  him  in  the  loss  of  Gretchen, 
was  so  terrible.  But  the  Durer  picture  hung  before 
him  as  he  sat  at  his  work-table ;  the  brave  knight 
riding  resolutely  onward  alone  with  Death,  the  ugly 
temptation  conquered  and  passed  by.  '  No  matter,' 
he  said  to  himself,  '  if  it  is  Death  who  is  calling 
me  to  the  long  march,  since  honor  goes  with 
me.'     But  the  parting  with  Gretchen  was  harder 


296 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


than  he  had  thought,  though  the  dear  girl  was  very 
brave  and  calm.  '  When  I  think  of  you,'  he  said, 
on  the  day  that  his  regiment  marched  away,  '  I  am 


army  had  encircled  Paris.  The  time  for  action 
seemed  over ;  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait 
until  the  city  should  be  starved  into  surrender. 
Albrecht  commanded  a  small  detachment  at  Sevres, 
near  Paris ;  he  found  much  here  to  interest  and 
instruct  him,  and  spent  these  hours  of  enforced 
idleness,  as  far  as  opportunity  offered,  in  a  study 
of  French  porcelain. 


almost  tempted  to  desert.' 


" '  The  thought  of  me  should 
make  you  stronger  to  do  your 
duty,'  she  replied;  'and  if 
you  are  ever  tempted  into 
doing  any  wrong  or  shame- 
ful thing,  I  shall  know  that 
you  have  forgotten  me  en- 
tirely.' 


"  And  Albrecht  Diirer  Blu- 
mengarten  did  do  his  duty, 
and  was  twice  promoted  for 
gallantry  upon  the  field  of 
battle.     The  great  German 


THE  CLOCK  AND  THE  FOUNTAIN.  297 


"  Fifine,  the  inn-waitress,  soon  found  that  he  never 
cared  if  the  omelette  was  poor  or  the  soup  cold,  if 
only  it  was  served  to  him  from  a  plate  of  old  Rouen 
faience,  whose  design,  of  questionable  merit  and  glar- 
ing color,  had  never  been  presented  to  him  before. 

"  '  Monsieur  is  fond  of  porcelain  ? '  Fifine  remarked 
one  day;  'he  should  see  the  beautiful  things  there 
used  to  be  at  the  castle  of  Montmorency,  where  my 
grandmother  was 
a  servant ;  it  was 
she  who  told  me 
about  them. 
There  were  great 
platters  which  I 
should  not  like  to 
have  eaten  from, 
for  they  seemed,  so  my  grandmother  said,  more  like 
lakes  and  pools  than  Christian  dishes ;  in  the  cen- 
tre there  would  be  a  lump  like  a  rock,  and  on  it 
lizards  or  salamanders  sunning  themselves;  frogs 
squatted  upon  the  margin,  as  on  the  bank  of  a 
stream,  just  ready  to  jump,  as  though  frightened 
by  some  school-boy ;  there  were  even  snakes  coiled 
up  asleep;  between  the  margin  and  the  rock  you 


298  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


would  almost  think  there  was  running  water,  the 
eels  wriggled  so,  the  bright  speckled  trout  glanced, 
and  a  wary  carp  or  so  was  lurking  under  the 
shadow  of  the  rock.  How  is  it  possible  that  one 
should  enjoy  such  things?  and  yet  the  great  peo- 
ple thought  them  very  fine.' 

"  '  What  artist  made  these  plates  ? '  asked  Albrecht. 

"  '  How  should  I  know,'  replied  the  girl ;  '  it  was 
some  one  away  back  in  the  time  of  the  first  duke ; 
he  came  and  lived  awhile  at  the  castle,  for  there 
are  not  only  the  dishes  for  the  table  service,  but 
also  a  pavement  in  tiles,  and  a  grotto  in  the  gar- 
den, where  all  kinds  of  fish  —  lampreys,  turbots, 
soles,  rays,  salmon,  cray-fish,  anchovy,  and,  for  aught 
I  know,  sardines  and  shrimp  —  were  modelled  in  por- 
celain, and  placed  under  the  water.  The  grotto 
itself  was  filled  with  a  vine,  whose  leaves  and  fruit 
and  branches,  and  the  birds  flying  within  them,  were 
all  of  the  same  material.' 

" '  This  could  have  been  the  work  of  but  one 
man,'  said  Albrecht,  thoughtfully,  '  Palissy,  the  art- 
ist naturalist ; '  and  then  he  fell  to  thinking  of  his 
unfinished  fountain. 

"  At  Sevres,  where  Albrecht  was  stationed,  are 


THE  CLOCK  AND  THE  FOUNTAIN.  299 


the  French  porcelain  works,  connected  with  which 
there  was  a  museum  in  which  Albrecht  spent 
much  of  his  leisure  time,  studying  the  different 
models  and  making  careful  drawings.  In  one  of 
the  deserted  rooms,  formerly  occupied  by  designers 
for  the  establishment,  he  found  a  series  of  photo- 
graphs of  the  charming  figures  known  as  Raphael's 
Hours,  and  supposed  to  have  been  painted  for  a 
room  in  the  Vatican.  Albrecht  had  never  hap- 
pened to  see  these  figures  before,  and  he  was  so 
much  struck  by  them  that  he  determined  to  try 
for  the  prize  offered  for  a  porcelain  clock-case  as 
well  as  for  the  fountain.  The  clock  should  be  in 
the  style  of  the  Renaissance,  decorated  with  these 
little  figures.  He  made  careful  drawings  and  sketches 
in  color  which  he  sewed  into  the  lining  of  his  coat ; 
night  and  day  he  dreamed  of  nothing  but  the 
'Hours;'  sweet,  serious  Midnight  with  her  owl, 
joyous  Morn  scattering  dew  and  sunshine,  languid 
glorious  Noon,  timid  Evening  with  her  flitting  bat 
and  all  their  lovely  sisterhood,  —  there  should  never 
be  a  clock  like  his  clock. 

"  The  discipline  existing  in  the  Prussian  army  in 
regard  to  acts  of  vandalism  and  pillage  was  not  as 


300  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


strict  as  it  might  have  been ;  many  beautiful  and 
artistic  objects  were  wantonly  destroyed  or  carried 
away  by  officers  and  men.  As  Albrecht  strolled 
through  the  ruined  works  one 
evening  he  was  startled  by  the 
sound  of  loud  voices  and  crash- 
ing blows  proceeding  from  a 
work-shop  whose  entrance  had 
been  hitherto  concealed  be- 
neath a  pile  of  debris.  He 
entered,  and  found  some  of 
his  own  men  breaking  quan- 
tities of  undecorated  porcelain, 


which  had  been  stored  there.  He  put  an  imme- 
diate stop  to  the  work  of  destruction,  and  reported 
his  discovery  of  the  room  at  headquarters.    A  supe- 


THE  CLOCK  AND  THE  FOUNTAIN.  301 


rior  officer  inspected  it,  and  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that 
there  was  nothing  in  the  room  worth  confiscation, 
and  that  the  men  might  as  well  have  been  allowed  to 
amuse  themselves.  '  If  there  is  anything  here  that 
you  would  like  to  carry  back  to  Germany,  and  can 
find  the  means  of  transportation,  you  are  at  liberty 
to  take  it,'  were  his  parting  words  as  he  left  Al- 
brecht  alone  in  the  work-shop.  Very  carefully  the 
latter  examined  shelf  after  shelf  of  the  fine  porcelain. 
There  were  dinner-sets  of  two  hundred  and  three 
hundred  pieces,  which  he  longed  to  decorate,  and 
vases  of  graceful  shape  and  large  size ;  but  he  saw 
nothing  to  excite  more  than  common  admiration 
until  he  came  upon  a  series  of  platters  and  basins. 
One  of  them,  three  or  four  feet  long,  only  waited  the 
artist's  brush  to  realize  Fifine's  description  of  the 
Palissy  grotto.  It  was  filled  with  fish  and  reptilian 
forms  beautifully  modelled,  and  must  have  been  a 
reproduction  of  some  authentic  design  of  Palissy's. 
During  the  remainder  of  Albrecht's  stay  he  devoted 
himself  to  coloring  these  fish  with  tints  suggested  by 
his  imagination,  his  knowledge  of  nature,  and  study 
of  models  in  the  museum.  He  found  colors  in  an- 
other part  of   the   manufactory,  and  shut  himself 


302 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


into  the  little  room  when  he  was  at  liberty  to  do 
so,  nailing  upon  the  door  an  order,  which  he  per- 
suaded his  general  to  sign,  that  he  should  not  be 
disturbed.  At  length  the  war  was  over,  and  the 
Prussian  troops  were  recalled.  Notwithstanding  the 
permission  of  his  commander,  Albrecht  did  not  carry 
off  a  single  article ;  he  left  a  letter  in  the  beautiful 
basin  begging  pardon  for  his  attempt  at  decorating 
it,  and  marched  away.  On  his  arrival  at  home  he 
set  himself  seriously  to  work  on  the  clock-case,  which 
he  succeeded  in  completing  a  few  days  before  the 
expiration  of  the  time  set  by  the  princess.  It  was 
a  remarkably  beautiful  object ;  the  friends  to  whom 
he  showed  it  felt  that  it  was  sure  of  the  prize.  ' 

"  But  the  fountain !  He  placed  his  fisher-lad  be- 
fore him,  and  wished  that  he  had  more  time ;  he 
might  possibly  reproduce  from  memory  the  won- 
derful Palissy  basin,  over  the  centre  of  which  the 
little  fisher  could  be  placed,  and  the  fountain  would 
be  complete.  The  time  was  too  short;  he  could 
only  compete  for  the  clock.  As  he  sadly  returned 
the  incomplete  fountain  to  its  wrappings,  a  letter 
was  handed  him  from  a  member  of  the  committee 
of  managers  of  the  Sevres  Works,  thanking  him 


THE  CLOCK  AND  THE  FOUNTAIN.  303 


for  his  preservation  of  the  porcelain,  and  praising 
his  decoration  of  the  Palissy  basin.  The  writer 
stated  that  if  the  manufactory  were  as  prosperous 
as  in  its  former  days,  the  managers  would  never 
suffer  such  a  fine  piece  of  ornamentation  to  go  out 
of  their  hands,  but  in  their  present  impoverished 
condition  they  could  not  offer  him  a  price  at  all 
commensurate  with  its  worth.  The  letter  ended  by 
begging  him  to  accept  the  basin  as  a  mark  of  the 
managers'  gratitude  for  his  services  in  preserving  to 
them  so  much  valuable  work.  The  basin  arrived 
shortly  after  by  express.  The  fisher-lad  seemed  to 
have  been  made  expressly  for  it,  and  peered  over  his 
•  rock  absorbed  by  the  fishes  beneath.  Both  foun- 
tain and  clock  took  the  premiums  offered  by  the 
Princess  Von  Hochgebirge,  and  the  money  received 
by  Albrecht  was  sufficient  to  warrant  his  immediate 
marriage  with  Gretchen.  The  picture  occupying 
the  place  of  honor  in  their  little  home  is  Diirer's 
Knight  and  Death.  '  If  it  had  not  been  for  that 
picture,'  says  Albrecht,  '  perhaps  I  should  never  have 
dared  to  give  up  Hope  for  Duty.' " 


IVORY  BLACK. 


IVORY  BLACK. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TALES. 


UST  one  year  from  the  time 
that  Tint  had  told  the  chil- 
dren their  first  story,  Flossy 
and  Ruby  sat  together  in  the 
studio.  The  children  felt  sad, 
for  they  were  soon  to  be 
parted.  Ruby  was  going  to 
Europe  for  a  year,  with  his 
father  and  mother. 

"  And  now,"  said  Flossy,  "  we 
shall  never  see  the  Paint  Bogies  again ; "  as  she 
spoke,  Ruby  repeated  the  mystic  incantation,  and 
Tint  appeared. 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  he  said  to  Flossy ;  "  Car- 
rie and  I  will  come  no  more  to  tell  you  stories 
of  pictures  and  artists;  but  where  Ruby  goes  he 
will  find  another  Art  Bogy,  much  older  than  I,  who 


308  ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


began  life  when  Adam  and  Eve  were  expelled  from 
the  Garden  of  Eden,  and  who  can  consequently  tell 
you  stories  from  the  very  beginning  of  the  human 
race.  The  old  adage,  that  'walls  have  ears,'  is  truer 
than  most  people  know,  for  there  is  not  a  house 
or  building  of  any  kind  that  is  not  haunted  by  the 
Bogy  of  Architecture.  He  crouches  by  the  water- 
spout just  under  the  eaves,  and  hears  everything 
that  is  said  within  the  house ;  that  is  why  people 
who  listen  at  doors  and  windows  are  called  eaves- 
droppers. You  will  find  him  if  you  look  sharply 
as  you  walk  under  the  walls  of  old  castles  and 
cathedrals,  and  he  will  tell  you  stories  more  inter- 
esting than  mine  have  been." 

"  That  is  all  very  nice  for  Ruby,"  said  Flossy, 
disconsolately ;  "  but  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  O,  whenever  I  meet  the  old  goblin,  and  he  tells 
me  a  story,  I  '11  write  it  down  and  send  it  to  you," 
said  Ruby,  gallantly.  He  kept  his  word,  so  that 
all  of  the  little  people  who  care  can  have  the  sto- 
ries that  the  Bogy  of  Architecture  told,  for  their 
next  Christmas  present. 

"  Tint,"  said  Flossy,  persuasively,  "  can't  we  have 
one  more  of  your  stories  before  we  part  ?  There  is 
one  more  color  left  on  the  palette." 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TALES. 


309 


"  Only  an  ugly  blot  of  black ;  the  palette  would 
be  far  gayer  and  brighter  without  it ;  but  the  palette 
is  only  a  symbol  of  life,  my  dears,  and  there  is  no 
life  without  its  blot.  In  some  it  is  so  small  a  speck 
as  to  be  almost  imperceptible,  and  in  others  spread- 
ing over  and  obscuring  all  the  more  attractive  col- 
ors. Do  you  know  that  you  youngsters  are  artists  ? 
You  paint  a  picture  every  day  of  your  lives,  destined 
to  hang  at  last  in  a  great  gallery." 

"  No,"  replied  Ruby,  "  I  did  n't  know  it.  Is  the 
gallery  anything  like  Memorial  Hall  at  the  Centen- 
nial ?  I  never  thought  I  could  paint  anything  fit 
to  hang  there,  though  father  did  say  he  believed 
that  with  a  shoe-brush  and  a  brush  of  whitewash 
I  could  do  better  work  than  some  he  saw  there." 

"  I  don't  think,"  exclaimed  Flossy,  eagerly,  "  that 
it  makes  much  difference  whether  the  picture  is 
good  or  bad,  if  you  only  have  some  one  smart 
enough  to  guess  what  was  meant,  and  make  believe 
see  things  in  it.  You  remember  how  one  of  the 
Art  students  at  the  museum  told  Grandma  Tangle- 
skein  that  Turner's  Slave-Ship  was  a  picture  of  a 
yellow  cat  going  into  fits  in  a  bowl  of  tomato  soup, 
and  she  believed  it ;  the  cat  had  the  most  ferocious 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


eyes  she  ever  saw,  she  said;  but  it  really  seemed 
to  her  that  its  tail  was  too  long." 

"  I  see  you  don't  understand  me,"  said  Tint, 
gravely ;  "  the  pictures  which  you  paint  every  day 
are  word-pictures  and  deed-pictures.  They  will  hang 
in  a  hall  called  Memory,  but  not  like  Memorial 
Hall  in  Philadelphia,  where  the  spectators  elbowed 
their  way  only  once,  without  even  glancing  at  half 
of  the  pictures.  You  must  each  of  you  live  for- 
ever in  this  Hall  of  Memory,  with  the  pictures 
which  you  have  made  staring  down  upon  you, 
whether  you  like  the  looks  of  them  or  not.  Some 
persons  who  have  not  acted  as  they  should,  and 
do  not  like  to  face  their  naughty  deeds,  hang  rich 
broidered  curtains  of  Pride  before  them,  and  en- 
courage spiders  to  weave  their  webs  of  Forgetful- 
ness  across  the  paintings.  But  there  is  a  strong 
wind,  called  Conscience,  which  blows  the  silken 
concealers'  aside,  showing  the  picture  in  all  its  Mack 
hideousness.  You  have  not  painted  much  yet,  lit- 
tle folks;  be  careful  how  you  choose  your  colors 
from  the  palette  of  life.  Take  white,  which  means 
purity ;  green,  hope  and  victory ;  yellow,  fruitful- 
ness ;  red,  love ;  blue,  truth ;  or  brown,  endurance ; 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TALES. 


311 


but  do  not  once  dip  your  brush  in  the  black  paint, 
called  sin." 

"  Now  see  here,  Tint,"  said  Ruby,  in  a  tone  of 
expostulation,  "  you  are  n't  going  to  end  up  with  a 
sermon,  are  you  ?  Because  I  hate  stories  with  mor- 
als, and  this  afternoon  it  seems  to  me  that  it's  all 
moral  and  no  story." 

"  I  see  you  don't  wish  to  hear  any  more  from  me," 
replied  Tint,  in 
an  injured  man- 
ner. "Very- 
well,  that  paint- 
ing on  your 
father's  easel 
will  give  you 
the  thought  I 
wished  to  con- 
vey in  a  story, 
and  that  is  bet- 
ter than  to  tie 
it  on  to  the  end 
—  Farewell  ? " 
With  a  fearful 

snap,  Tint  collapsed  for  the  last  time. 


312 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


The  painting  which  he  had  indicated  was  a  por- 
trait of  an  old  negro  who  had  come  to  whitewash 
Mrs.  Rose's  kitchen.  Mr.  Rose  watched  him  through 
an  open  door,  and  had  stolen  his  portrait  without 
ever  allowing  the  old  man  to  suspect  that  he  was 
being  painted. 

"  How  sad  his  eyes  look,"  said  Flossy,  gazing  at 
the  picture.  "  I  wonder  if  he  does  not  get  tired 
holding  that  brush.  What  are  you  trying  to  make 
so  very  white,  poor  old  man  ? " 

To  the  children's  surprise,  the  picture,  thus  ad- 
dressed, replied  in  clear  tones, — 

"  I  'se  tryin'  to  brush  out  a  sin,  miss, 

Dat  keeps  'trudin'  itself  on  my  sight. 
It's  dar,  and  as  brack  now  as  ebber, 

Dough  I  pile  on  a  mountain  ob  white. 
And  dough  it 's  a  mis'able  story, 

Ef  it  keeps  yo'  from  sin  an'  from  pain, 
From  doin'  somet'ing  you 'd  be  'shamed  ob, 

Dis  yere  chile  has  n't  lib'd  quite  in  vain. 
Your  heart  may  be  brack  as  my  face  is, 

Dough  yore  han's  day  be  ibory  white, 
An'  nuffin'  ain't  settled  for  sartin'  — 

Nuffin',  miss,  dat  ain't  fust  settled  right. 
Fo'  de  wah,  on  Ole  Massa's  plantation 

We  was  dat  bad  afflicted  wid  rats, 
Dey  ate  up  each  pore  niggah's  ration, 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TALES. 


313 


An'  cley  chewed  off  de  heads  of  de  cats. 
'No  use  in  our  stannin'  sech  nonsense,' 

Says  Ole  Massa.  '  You  '11  see  dat  I  won't ; 
So,  boys,  you  is  scused  from  all  labor 

To  debark  for  fo'  days  in  a  hunt. 
An'  dat  one  dat  kills  de  mos'  varmints, 

An'  counts  dar  tails  out  onto  me, 
Shall  hab  a  big  keg  of  merlasses, 

Besides  freedom  to  work  hisseffree.' 
You  nebber  seed  no  sech  excitement, 

Ebery  one  ob  us  jined  in  de  race  ; 
Befo'  dem  ar  fo'  days  was  ober, 

Dar  wa'n't  nebber  a  rat  on  de  place. 
Not  one  ob  us  cahed  for  his  freedom. 

(I  is  'shamed  ob  us,  but  it 's  de  troof.) 
Merlasses,  too,  ain't  to  be  slighted, 

You  will  'gree  if  you'se  got  a  sweet  toof. 
Now  Bill 'd  been  my  friend  sence  as  babies 

We  each  teached  one  anudder  to  creep. 
Well,  I  ob  de  tails  had  a  right  smart, 

But  dat  Bill  in  a  box  had  a  heap. 
He 'd  won  de  keg  sho'  as  taxation, 

But  I  stole  to  his  house  like  a  fox 
De  morn  ob  de  count,  an'  jus'  tink,  miss, 

I  was  mean  'nuff  to  scoot  wid  his  box! 
But  when  I  was  'clared  for  de  winner, 

I  did  feel  mos'  oncommonly  beat 
(It  did  n't  quite  spile  dat  merlasses, 

For  dough  sin  is  sin,  suggah  's  sweet.) 
But  sence  dat  I  'se  sot  wid  de  mourners, 

An'  shed  tears  'nuff  to  fill  all  de  pails 


3H 


ALL  AROUND  A  PALETTE. 


Ob  whitewash  I  ebber  has  mixed,  miss, 
But  I  can't  quite  wash  out  dem  ar  tails." 

The  moral 's  hard  to  discover  ? 

Then  our  palette-talk  naught  avails : 

At  last,  of  rats  and  of  colors 

i 

We  have  reached  the   


Cambridge  :  Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


End  of  the  Tales. 


I 


